All About Elizabeth
by Zebeckras
Summary: Webfoot continuity, direct sequel to Flooded. Ever notice how, even after all the stories she's been in, there's a lot we don't know about Beth? Now's where we fill in some of the blanks. Complete!  Please review for cookies!
1. Act I part 1

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

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_A/N: Not a whole lot to say, I don't think. Again, no idea how long this'll take me to finish since I'm releasing it as I go... and I still don't know exactly what's going to go into this one. Oh well. :) _

_Ye be warned: this story does NOT have the action of the last one. In fact, this story has __**melodrama**__. And angst. OH THE ANGST. Oh well, it's emo, live with it. Hope you like it!_

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**Act I**

Irene Webfoot was worried about her youngest daughter.

Her two older children had had difficulties in school, and although Candy had mostly overcome them by this point, poor Beef was still struggling. Now, at age six, it looked as though little Beth was going to follow suit. Her homework was infrequently done, and her class participation was minimal. At this early age, the teachers considered it a huge red flag of problems to come when a child seemed disinclined to play the Alphabet Game.

Irene sighed. Candy's problems had only been solved by being kept back a grade; the good side was that being the eldest child in her second grade class hadn't seemed to harm her popularity, as the young girl was constantly surrounded by friends. Beth, on the other hand, kept to herself and didn't speak much to the other children in the first place, so pushing her back to repeat kindergarten might be a social obstacle that she could never overcome.

On the other hand, it might make no difference at all. She certainly did seem to be starting at zero. This was another area that worried Irene about her daughter, but all her efforts to encourage her little one to be more friendly and outgoing - more like her older sister, in other words - had come to naught.

As she dried the last of the dinner dishes, Irene considered her options. Aside from repeating a grade, she didn't know what to do. "Bug?" she called. Her husband, in his easy chair, turned his attention away from the cop show on TV and gave her a questioning look. "C'mere a minnit," she said simply.

He came. "You look thoughtful."

"Hon, what d'ye think we should do about Bethie?"

Bug considered, the small frown on his face a particularly unfamiliar expression for a man who wore a fatherly smile 23 hours a day. "Well, what were you thinking?"

Irene sighed; there was a lot to love about her husband, but he seldom expressed an opinion of his own without having it dragged out of him. "It's like the same t'ing over an' over again, isn't it? First Beef, then Candy, an' now Bethie's got all the warnin' signs. Is it just somethin' natural, like the folks at the school keep sayin', or is it somethin' we're doin'? Somethin' we could change?"

Bug put his arm around her. "Are you thinking about having her repeat a grade too?"

"I was thinkin' it," his wife agreed. "But then, I was also thinkin', is that p'raps like a bandaid, when what she really needs is an ointment? Are we just rushin' into the quickest answer?"

"It seemed to work out okay for Candy. And Beef, well, I don't think there was an alternative."

"Mmm." Irene nodded. "I s'pose it's a start. An' we'll see what she does from there. I just wish I knew what was makin' the problem, y'know, Bug?"

"I know." Henry "Bug" Webfoot stepped towards the hallway that led to his children's rooms. "Look, let's not make our minds up yet. Let's just go see how she's doing tonight."

They made their way down the hall to Beth's room, but it was empty. This wasn't particularly rare; Candy often dragged her younger sister into her own room a few doors down, especially at night, and the two girls had taken to spending long portions of the evening together. Since Candy had spent the first few years after Beth was born declaring her sister a "stinkpot doodlehead", Irene and Bug were both glad to see them spending quality time together.

Candy's voice was audible through her half-closed door well before her parents reached the room. "Are you done _yet_?" she asked petulantly. "You're taking practically forEVer."

Beth answered, quietly. "Almost. I have to check them though."

Bug smiled at his wife, his expression fond, until Candy spoke again. "Well you better finish soon, 'cause I still have to copy it, you know." Both her parents frowned, as the statement had something ominous about it. "Do you have any idea what would happen if I turned in _my_ fractions homework in _your_ baby handwriting? I'd probably get kicked out of school!"

Irene and Bug peered through the opening of the door and found Candy, sprawled on her back on the shag carpeting, her blond hair splayed about her like a golden halo. She had a "Tiger Beat" magazine open next to her. Close by, Beth sat at her sister's desk, looking at least a year younger than she was. She was hunched over something that was almost certainly Candy's homework. "Right," she said quietly, continuing to focus on the page and the book in front of her.

"An' you wouldn't want _that_ to happen, wouldja?" finished Candy. Beth didn't answer, and Candy sat up decisively. "_Would_ you?" she asked again, a hint of menace in her voice, and this time Beth turned around to face her.

"W-well, of course not, I just -" She noticed her parents, and fell silent, her eyes going wide.

"You just _what_?" Candy demanded, and then caught on. She turned in the direction of her door, tossing her head and making her hair bounce in a way she'd mastered by the time she was four. "Hi Mommy! Hi Daddy! Is it bedtime?"

Irene pushed the door open all the way and entered the room like a force of nature. "WHAT is going on in here!" The way she spoke, there was no real question involved.

Beth cast a terrified glance at her father, and found him frowning. She looked near tears. Candy, however, would not be cowed so easily. "Bethie needed help with her homework, and since she's only in first grade and I'm in second I helped her!" There was nothing in her tone to suggest that she was lying. It was a little unsettling.

Irene looked to Beth, who clearly knew she was in trouble, and just as clearly seemed to be prepared to be the one at fault. She turned back, and frowned at Candy. "Candace Maureen Webfoot, you tell me the truth this _instant_."

"B-but I just told you-"

"NOW, Missy!"

"It was Beth's idea!" Candy tried another track. At the desk, Beth flinched and a moment later started to cry. "She - she wanted to try it, and I thought it would be fun to let her, and she liked it!"

At this, Beth started to cry harder, and Irene slowed. She had a feeling this wasn't entirely a lie. Bug went to the desk and looked at the paper Beth had been writing on, then looked up at his wife and older daughter. "Hon - give this a look," he said.

"Don't even _t'ink_ yer not in trouble," Irene said firmly to Candy, pointing a finger straight at her beak, and then stepped to the desk.

The homework page was math - the "advanced level" of math in the second grade class, since Candy was retaking it and as such was well ahead of where she'd been last year. But, it occurred to Irene now, maybe her retaking the class had nothing to do with why she seemed to be in a higher skill level. The handwriting on all the numbers was clearly Beth's; the equations, meanwhile, were all clearly correct. There was not a single mistake.

Irene and Bug exchanged a look, while Beth's sobs quieted into curious sniffles. "Maybe we should talk to one'a the school couns'lors, after all," Irene said cautiously. Bug nodded.

* * *

**Now**

The noises were such that, at first, they just folded right into her dream. Little clinkings and thumpings, and her dream sort of adjusted itself to explain why she could hear kitchen noises in a pet store by adding a little coffee shop near the back, where the tadpoles were.

It wasn't until consciousness began to intrude, and the noises only became louder, that Beth realized they were _real_; that there was, in fact, someone in her kitchen. She wasn't yet at a point of thinking clearly enough to wonder why she could hear these noises so well all the way from her bedroom; heck, she wasn't even really wondering who the kitchen bandit was, yet. As she lifted her head groggily from her pillow (pillow? Since when did she sleep sitting up against her pillow?), all that was really on Beth's mind was the question: _What am I forgetting?_

She rubbed her eyes - or tried to, and found her glasses still sitting on her face, impeding her hand - and just sat and blinked for a moment. Certain things were very odd this morning.

For instance: this was not her bedroom. This was her living room, and she had slept on the arm of the couch all night.

For another instance: who the heck was in her kitchen?

Answers fell into place like dominos, one after the other. Launchpad was in the kitchen; he was why she'd slept on the couch, because they'd both been up all night; he'd stayed because she'd been upset, and she'd been upset because...

The sudden weight of sadness almost crushed her, and her heart squirmed like it was trying to leap right out of her throat. She lost her breath for a moment, and clutched at the arm of the couch. _Drake._

Her life was over.

For a moment, just one moment, she felt lost... swept away in hopelessness, drowning in loneliness so deep that she'd lost her identity in it. She was alone - she meant nothing to anyone - there was no Beth, and why should there be, no one liked Beth, not even Beth herself.

But she shook her head. There was no good reason behind that thinking, and she knew it. She was an adult now and she had to stop thinking that way. Just because Drake... just because...

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears; there'd been enough crying the night before, and she knew she was overreacting. She knew it logically, but her heart didn't seem to care about logic, and as she tightened her face to try to keep from crying it seemed instead that she was trying to keep from screaming, trying impossibly to keep from flying apart where she sat.

She relaxed all at once, breathing hard, almost panting. And then she remembered the other part, the part that might even be the worst part. Launchpad was in her kitchen, and any second now he would come out, and she was awake and she'd have to talk to him. Because she wasn't alone, and she did mean something to someone, and she had always thought that it would be nice just to be loved by _anyone_ but it was all different when it was your best friend.

He'd let her get away with not talking about it the night before... possibly because she couldn't do much talking at all, once he'd said it. (Maybe he hadn't really said it. Maybe she'd misunderstood.) But she couldn't ignore it forever. She couldn't, because if she did, she'd lose Launchpad and then she really _would_ have nothing and nobody. It was funny, she thought bitterly, how being rejected by one man that she loved was almost _better_ than being the object of affections from a man she _didn't_ love. Not like that, anyway.

A cupboard closed, and she jumped and considered feigning sleep until maybe Launchpad went home. Before she could try to put her head down, however, he appeared at the door holding a little bag of freeze-dried coffee.

When he saw that she was awake, he gave her a huge smile. "Mornin'! Did I wake you?"

Beth tried to smile back, and was aware that it looked a little rueful. "Um, nah. Not too much. Did you..." She wasn't sure what she was going to say, and ended up trying, "Breakfast?"

"Oh, yeah!" He held up the coffee. "I was just gonna make us both some, and I found this - I thought you didn't drink coffee!"

"I don't," she said. "I keep that around in case Dra-"

The way she bit off the word made it pretty clear, even if she hadn't already said most of his name. She lowered her eyes, looking neutrally at the coffee table, and said dispiritedly, "For company. Just... in case."

"Right." Launchpad nodded slowly, and made his way into the room. "So... how ya feeling?"

That was a tricky question. Beth pressed her mouth into a tight line, and dropped her gaze even further. Then she took a deep breath, and pulled herself together. "Better!" she lied, and did a decent job of it.

Launchpad smiled, although it was only a half-smile, and she had a feeling he didn't wholly believe her. "Good! I was kinda worried."

"Aw," she said, and the entire room seemed to tighten into awkwardness as she pretended she wasn't thinking of what he'd said the night before. "Well, no need to worry about me! I mean, I have some... stuff, to... get over, but mostly I'm..." She shrugged. "You know. Fine. Or, I will be."

Launchpad looked at the bag of coffee, and then set it down on the table and took her hand. "Look, Beth... I just wanna say -"

She stood up quickly, and pulled her hand away as casually as she could. Regardless, she still caught the surprised expression on his face, and hated herself. "Should I make the coffee? You usually have coffee in the mornings, right?"

"Uh - well, I was lookin' for a coffee-maker, but I didn't see one, so I came out to ask."

It dawned on Beth, for the first time in close to a year, that she had kept coffee for guests without actually owning a coffee-maker. "Do you need one to make coffee?" she asked weakly.

Launchpad considered. "Maybe we could boil it on the stove."

"Can you do that?"

"I think so," he said, and stood up next to her. "Wanna give it a shot?"

_Why not?_ was the way her mind answered the question. Aloud, she said, "Sure."

She let him go into the kitchen first, and hung behind, watching him. She crossed her arms in front of herself and hugged her elbows, feeling sick. Maybe... maybe he hadn't meant it, or at least, not the way she thought he did. Maybe she was making a mountain out of a molehill. _Someone who wants to take care of you... who wants to come home to you,_ he'd said. Beth tried to think of a way that she could interpret that as being more platonic, and came up blank.

Sadness sidelined her again, distracting her from thoughts of Launchpad with the memory of Drake's words, and she put a hand over her eyes as Launchpad filled a saucepan with water and set it to boil on the stovetop. When she took a deep breath and uncovered them, he was staring at the freeze-dried coffee bag, evidently trying to figure out how to get it open.

"Should I get scissors?" she suggested, with the distinct feeling that this "boiling" experiment was not going to work... but if it didn't, no big loss, and besides, it was something else to think about.

"Good thinkin'," he answered, and once she'd come back with her kitchen scissors and they'd sliced the package open he dumped it into the pan. Beth handed him a wooden spoon, mostly to see what he'd do with it; he considered it and then tried stirring the heap of coffee grounds. Pretty soon it looked not at all unlike mud.

"Appetizing," Beth observed.

"Yeah, this might not work," Launchpad admitted, a little sheepishly, and Beth had to laugh despite herself. Launchpad echoed it, just for a moment, then fell silent and just watched her, smiling.

The laughter died in Beth's throat, and she looked away uncomfortably.

After a moment, he began, "Hey, do you - you remember somethin' I said last night...?"

Beth looked at him quickly - he was now facing the stove - and tried to think of a way to avoid this conversation. Stupidly, all she could come up with was to play dumb. "Ummmm..." She squinted, shook her head slightly. "Last night...? Not sure..."

Launchpad brought his hands together and started twiddling his thumbs nervously. "Uh, well, I said that... uh, I would -"

"I remember," she said quickly, shaking her hands desperately. The thought of hearing it again left a ball of guilt and anxiety in her stomach. "That, right, I remember that."

"Well, we didn't really... talk about it, y'know?"

Beth's stomach was tying itself in knots. She hung her head. "I guess we didn't."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him looking at her cautiously. She pretended not to notice. "I just want you to know why I said it."

For a moment, she was filled with hope. "Why?"

"Well, see, you were all upset... And you were talkin' about giving up on stuff, and you sounded all hopeless, so I just thought..."

"Did you not mean it?" she asked quickly, and realized how eager she sounded.

Launchpad didn't seem to notice, though. When she lifted her head to look at him, he caught her eye, and she couldn't drop his gaze. Her heart sank; she knew the answer before he said anything, but he said it anyway, his voice soft and faltering. "Uh, no... no, I meant it."

She swallowed, and they stared at one another before she found the strength to drop her eyes. "Oh." She swallowed again; she had to, to try to keep ahead of the lump that was forming in her throat. It didn't work, however; as her eyes filled with tears yet again, her head seemed to be full of an angry buzzing and her stomach clenched viciously.

"Beth - I just wanted to maybe help you feel better," Launchpad said apologetically, but there was no missing the disappointment in his voice, and she felt another stab of guilt - this time in her chest, straight through her heart. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, and had to step backwards when Launchpad tried to put a comforting arm around her. Quietly, he said, "But I guess I shouldn't've said anything."

"Oh god," said Beth into her hand, as her throat tightened. She tried to breathe deeply, and after a moment succeeded, but she was shaking. "C-can we talk about this l-later? P-please?"

"Sure," he said, sounding defeated.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her throat was burning and she had a strong feeling like she was about to throw up. He didn't answer for a moment, and she wanted desperately to continue to apologize, but no more words would come; they piled up in her head, _I'm so sorry, forgive me, I never ever wanted to do this to you_, but balked before leaving her mouth. Instead she concentrated on breathing, and trying to quell the increasingly violent shivers going up and down her spine.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, now sounding more worried than upset. She tried to nod, but the action may have been lost in the other tremors her body was putting her through. "Beth - don't do this, okay? You don't have to get so upset. Please."

For his sake, to stop him worrying, she did it - got in a full, deep breath, pushed it back out, and managed to hold herself still. "I'm okay," she said. He looked doubtful. She said, "I am. Honest. But I... I think I need some time to myself."

"Sure," he said again, sounding half-convinced. "Okay."

She paused. "It's not... you," she said softly. "It's really not." Her eyes met his for a second, and flicked away a moment later.

"Okay."

They stood in silence for a moment, then he reached awkwardly for her hand. She was filled with two odd, contradictory emotions: a wish to get away from him, side-by-side with an equally strong need for him to stay, to be the only one she saw right now - but she took his hand and held it for a moment before he stepped backwards, and let her go.

She couldn't think of anything to say, and he left in silence. And Beth had one of the worst moments of her life as he did, a feeling of self-loathing and loneliness and misery so intense that she couldn't breathe, nearly couldn't stand. It abated quickly, and that was its only mercy; it didn't end, it just lessened.

Trembling, she turned back to the stove and stared at the coffee in the saucepan, just starting to bubble from the heat. She turned the burner off, burst into tears, and sobbed until her breath was coming in gasps.

What kind of person _was_ she?! How could she feel sorry for herself over Drake; how could she be lonely, sit there and bemoan her solitude when there was someone who wanted to give her all the things she wished for? Why didn't she feel about him the way he felt about her? Why, why was this so hard, why was this even _happening_?

She had to sit down. She made it to the chairs at the kitchen table and gasped, and for several moments put her head down and just cried as hard as she could. When time had passed, and she could catch her breath again, she didn't feel better. In fact, she knew this was only going to get worse. She couldn't stay here - what if Launchpad came by to check on her, she couldn't see him. She couldn't see Drake either. She had to get away.

Beth grabbed the phone and clenched it hard for a moment, fighting the impulse she was under. This was a desperate act; this was a last resource, the kind of thing you did when you had sunk too low for anything else, and she hated herself for it. Giving in, she dialed the number.

It rang twice before a woman's voice answered. "Hello?"

In a trembling voice, Beth said, "Mom?" She sniffled thickly, and said, "I want to come home."


	2. Act I part 2

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

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_A/N: Oh you guys, I'm gonna be glad when I get through the hard stuff on this fic. LP is killing me dead. :( I feel like such a meanie._

_Oh, one quickie note: I had DW misquote himself, from the previous fic, on purpose. Probably no one would notice if I didn't point it out, but I thought it would be funnier. ;D_

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**Act I, part II**

Walking home, Launchpad felt in a daze. He wasn't actually sure just what had happened... There was very little that had actually been said, and a whole lot that hadn't, and he wasn't sure anymore what was what.

The worst part was, he couldn't tell how much of this had to do with DW and how much was just about them. Would things have gone differently if he'd told her before DW had talked to her? Or if he'd waited a few weeks?

Probably not. Sure, she was definitely torn up about that, but there was no mistaking the fact that he'd driven the last nail into the coffin by telling her how he felt. She'd been talking through her tears, and saying some pretty harsh things, but at least she'd been _talking_. Once he'd told her, she'd barely said another word the rest of the night, except to tell him that she didn't want him to leave.

He probably should have left anyway. It had been like a false sense of security, her telling him to stay; as she'd fallen asleep in his arms, he'd let himself think that they could talk through it the next day and maybe she'd understand that she didn't have to be upset. Maybe she'd realize that she wanted to be with him, too, or... or _something_.

But now, as he passed the Muddlefoots' house without looking past his feet (though he was vaguely aware that there was some kind of construction going on within and just outside of it), he was faced with the cold hard reality that Beth was brokenhearted and lonely - and didn't want him. She would sooner give up on romance entirely than be with him.

That was one of the things she hadn't said, which meant he could kind of cling to the hopeful thought that it wasn't true... She could just have been really upset over DW, right? And she was being pessimistic - she could really do that sometimes, especially about herself - and trying to find ways to keep herself miserable.

Sure, it was possible. Didn't seem likely though.

His entire body felt heavy, with disappointment and defeat. After everything - after the entire past year that he'd known her, stood by her, gotten to be close to her... He was good enough to be her friend and confidant, but nothing else. He felt a sudden surge of bitterness, almost full-blown anger, but it melted away again when he thought of her crying. She was like a shell of herself; he couldn't stay mad when she was like that.

That made it all the harder, knowing that he'd made it worse for her. He put his hand on the doorknob to his house, and paused, taking a deep breath before going in to face whoever might be awake at 8:30 in the morning. He mentally crossed his fingers that no one would be around; explaining where he'd been all night might be a little delicate.

The living room was deserted when he came in, and he breathed a sigh of relief and decided to try and make it up to his room. Maybe he could pretend he'd just come in late; he might even be able to get some extra sleep. In fact, staying in his room on his own for a few hours sounded pretty good right now, all things considered.

He was heading for the stairs when the kitchen door opened, and Drake stuck his head out. "Ah-ha!" he said, and Launchpad froze, feeling caught.

However, DW didn't even start the expected "where've you been, what were you up to?" questions; instead he spread his arms wide. "So I guess you'll be wanting to hear how I did it," he said smugly.

Launchpad couldn't fathom what he was talking about. He considered pretending otherwise, but DW was so clearly proud of himself that that seemed mean - and besides, if he tried to fake it now, he might not manage to catch up later. "Did what?" he asked.

Drake's smile slipped. "Whaddaya mean, 'did what'? Is the neighbourhood being held hostage? Do you see bars on any windows?" Launchpad looked surreptitiously at the windows, then back at Drake, who continued, "Is the city underwater?"

At that, it clicked. "OH, you beat the Liquidator?"

"Eeee-yep," said Drake. He folded his arms in front of him, looking like a very contented cat. "No doubt you're wondering how I accomplished the feat, without aid or assistance?"

"Guess so," said Launchpad dispiritedly. In fact, this wasn't really what he needed right now.

Taking no notice of his sidekick's lack of enthusiasm, Drake held his arms out in front of him, palms out, as though he were creating a scene. "It all began when I made the connection between the Liquidator's fake address, and that lousy deli you like," he said, an air of mystery creeping into his voice. Launchpad, who just couldn't muster the interest he would normally have in a story like this, nevertheless couldn't bring himself to interrupt. He sat down on the stairs, sighing quietly, and listened to the entire fifteen-minute re-enactment of Darkwing's previous night.

"And then I aimed the vaccuum, and I said 'Clean-up in aisle three!', and VWOOP! Sucked him right up!" Drake finished, nodding a sort of acknowledgement to the congratulations he expected, so Launchpad gave him a quick "Way to go!" Drake nodded again. "Thanks. All in all, pretty good night - I haven't done much solo work in a while and it was just like old times." He gave Launchpad a consoling smile. "Not that I don't appreciate your help, of course, LP. Just nice to know I haven't gotten spoiled by it."

"Gotcha," said Launchpad. He wondered if he could get up and go to his room yet.

Drake, perhaps sensing that something was wrong - or possibly just wondering why he wasn't getting a little more appreciation for his heroic deeds - gave his sidekick a good look for the first time. His eyebrows went up. "Wow, you look terrible," he said bluntly. "Were you just getting in?"

Here it was. Launchpad winced inwardly. "Uh, yeah. Beth an' me fell asleep on the couch."

"Ahhhhh," said Drake, and nodded knowingly, in a way that poked at Launchpad's nerves a little. "Watching movies?" he asked. Launchpad shrugged noncommittally, since that was completely untrue but he remembered having claimed it as an excuse for staying with her. Drake paused, then asked, "She okay?"

"She's..." Launchpad stopped himself, considered, and shook his head. "No. She's pretty bad. Couldn't stop cryin' all night."

"Oh." Drake no longer looked the least bit smug. He frowned, looked as though he was considering saying something, and then stayed silent instead. He gave Launchpad a searching glance, and said, "So I guess you didn't tell her-"

"I told her," said Launchpad; it was easier to just get this all out now, he figured. "An' she shot me down."

"Ouch." Drake winced. "Sorry, LP," he said, and Launchpad could tell he really meant it. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Nah, not really. I don't think I'm hungry though."

"C'mon, I'll fix you some coffee at least." He beckoned, and headed back for the kitchen.

Coffee was not high on Launchpad's list of priorities, but he could tell DW wanted to cheer him up, so he followed.

Seated at the table in the kitchen, Drake faced Launchpad as he stared into his coffee mug without drinking. "You want to talk about it?" he offered, something in his tone indicating he wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it.

Launchpad, who appreciated the sentiment, declined. "Nah, s'okay. There's not a whole lot to tell."

"Did she do the whole 'we can still be friends' thing?" Drake asked, pressing on regardless. Launchpad, looking puzzled, shook his head. "Huh. 'It's not you, it's me'?"

"She _did_ say it wasn't me," said Launchpad, "but how'd you know that?"

Drake eyed him. "You don't get dumped much, do you?"

Launchpad blinked. Now that he thought of it, that was true.

"Don't take it too hard, LP," Drake said, and patted his friend on the shoulder. "There are plenty of other fish in the sea. You might not feel like hearing that right NOW," he added quickly, as Launchpad looked put upon and began to speak, "but give it a little while. This is for the best; now everyone can move on."

"I guess so." The idea of "moving on" made his stomach feel like cold lead. The coffee was even less appetizing now. "I think I'm gonna go take a nap," Launchpad said, pushing back from the table.

"Before you go," Drake said quickly, and then paused. As if forcing himself, he asked, "Did she mention me?"

Given that Beth had spent the better part of the evening "mentioning" DW, Launchpad found the question in rather poor taste, and had to pause before answering for fear he'd say something he'd regret. He sat back down, his face without expression, and reflected on something he very rarely thought about: the possibility that, if Beth hadn't met DW on exactly the day she had, at exactly the time she did, she might have chosen Launchpad from the start and all of this could have been avoided.

He felt another surge of sudden and unexpected anger, which again died off when he looked directly at DW. The question wasn't about ego; his expression was so unfamiliar that it almost made DW look like a different person. He looked extremely uncomfortable and more than a little guilty.

Launchpad still couldn't think of the right answer to the question, so he just nodded instead. Then he added, "A lot."

Drake's shoulders slumped a little. He put his hand over his eyes. "Terrific. This just couldn't get any worse for anyone, could it?" He sounded a little irritated, which Launchpad interpreted as directed at himself. After a moment, he removed his hand and looked at Launchpad again. "Do you think she'll ever even come over here again?"

"I dunno," said Launchpad. In fact, the farthest he'd thought in advance was the undetermined amount of time that his planned nap would take. After that... The idea that Beth might never want to see _either_ of them again was a whole new level of unhappiness.

The mood in the kitchen was decidedly glum when Gosalyn entered a few moments later. "Hey Dad! Got the whole fake alarm thingie taken care of, huh?"

"Yeah," said Drake distractedly. Then he perked up. "So I guess you'll be wanting to know how I did it?"

Gosalyn looked uncertain. She stalled by turning to Launchpad, and the look on her face when she saw him was so similar to the one that had graced the face of her adopted father that it was hard to believe they weren't blood relations. "Wow. You look terrible," she said.

"Thanks," said Launchpad listlessly.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Launchpad is fine, he just needs some space," said Drake quickly.

Gosalyn looked at Launchpad closely, and a sympathetic expression came over her face. "Are you really fine?"

Launchpad shrugged. "If DW says so," he answered.

"Oh, Launchpad," said Gosalyn quietly. She patted his arm gently. "Is this about Beth?"

Drake looked uneasy, but waited for Launchpad to answer. Launchpad, however, didn't realize this until a few moments had passed. He blinked, realizing both father and daughter were watching him. "Oh. Huh?"

"Wow," said Gosalyn, her tone suggesting she was feeling a weird kind of awe. "Bad reception today." Turning to her father, she asked, "Beth?"

"Beth," he confirmed. "I believe you were the one who advocated getting 'the truth' out there?"

"Uh-oh." Gosalyn swallowed hard. "Uh, didn't go the way we'd hoped?"

"We'll let you know. It depends on if Beth ever speaks to either of us again," answered Drake, and Gosalyn winced.

"Hey, you guys," said Launchpad suddenly, "ya think maybe I oughta call her? See if she's feeling any better?"

Drake shook his head. "I think now is a good time to play 'hard to get', actually," he advised. "If you need something to take your mind off things, how about I go over my defeat of the Liquidator last night for you and Gos?"

Launchpad looked unenthusiastic, and stood up. "I already heard this. I think I'm gonna-"

Drake pushed him back into his seat. "It'll cheer you up! Besides, I don't think you were listening the last time."

This time, the recounting took twenty minutes.

* * *

Gosalyn's softball game wasn't until 3 pm, and morning practice went as well as could be expected considering that Tank couldn't get it through his head that sometimes, he _shouldn't_ swing the bat when the ball was coming at him, because sometimes there was just no _chance_ it was going to connect.

She took the opportunity of the walk home for lunch to try and beat this into his head, but didn't meet with any progress.

"What does it matter anyway?" he grunted, scowling. "It'd be worse to not hit it an' lose the game than it is to try an' hit it and miss!"

"Nooo, Tank, it's NOT worse. In fact, it's pretty much _exactly_ the same thing: either way you strike out!"

Honker, walking a few paces behind them, held the bats in his arms. He'd chosen this task specifically because, when Gosalyn and Tank got into these kinds of discussion, Honker preferred to know that the bats were not within easy range of either one of them. It was bad enough to see them nearly coming to blows just with fists.

"Last time I looked, nobody died an' made you coach!" snapped Tank.

Gosalyn stood about two inches in front of him and hiked herself up on tiptoes to emphasize her point. "Nobody's died _yet_," she began angrily. Honker tried to gauge the situation and see if it was serious enough for him to take the plunge and remind them that he was there, just to break up the impending fight.

Instead, he noticed an unfamiliar sight outside of a familiar house. "Gosalyn...?" he tried.

His best friend was too involved in making implicit threats to his older brother, so Honker stared at the set-up and tried to figure it out. Gosalyn would notice in a few more steps, anyway.

There was a car outside of Beth Webfoot's house, and two men were loading it with bags and other items. Honker looked closely at the two men: one was older, his hair thinning and grey. He was tucking a couple of small boxes inside the four-door station wagon parked outside of the house. Coming down the walkway was a younger, larger man who had a computer monitor under one arm and the corresponding tower under the other. He didn't seem to be batting an eye over the weight or the bulk of his load.

Gosalyn and Tank passed right by Beth's sidewalk without noticing, but once they'd gone on towards Honker's house Gosalyn - who was walking backwards to yell at Tank - suddenly stopped. "Hey - what the heck?!"

Honker caught up to her. "They're taking stuff out of Ms. Webfoot's house," he said. "I don't think they're stealing, but maybe we should get your Dad anyway."

"They're what??" demanded Gosalyn. If she heard the second sentence, she apparently didn't agree with it. Instead she stalked up to the bigger man and gave him a glare, then announced, "Hold it right there, buddy! Don't you need a permit or something?"

The big man blinked down at her, his expression unchanging. He didn't seem entirely certain of what she was, but he also didn't seem particularly interested. The older man, on the other hand, stepped around the car and looked at her.

"Well! You must be Gosalyn," he said, his voice warm and friendly. Honker noticed now that he had a camera slung around his neck. The lenscap was off.

"Yeah, who're you?" Gosalyn demanded, never one to be thrown off by a little thing like a total stranger knowing her name.

"I'm Bug Webfoot, Beth's father. She's told us all about you - you're just like she described," he said with a chuckle. Before Gosalyn could answer, he'd picked up the camera and snapped the 11-year-old's picture. The flash was on, and it was bright; Gosalyn had to blink for a moment or two after it went off. "There! Gosalyn Mallard, on August 18th, 1993," Bug said mildly. "For the scrapbooks," he added.

Gosalyn now began to look confused. "Why're you here? I mean..." She clearly didn't want to back down, but the fact that this was Beth's father - for all appearances anyway (and Honker could see a subtle resemblance between Bug and Beth now) seemed to have taken some of the wind out of her sails. "What's going on? Why're you taking her stuff?"

Bug smiled kindly. "Beth's coming home for a little visit, that's all. She said she needs her computer along so she can work while she's there."

The big guy had gone back into the house during this, and was now emerging with three suitcases hanging from his arms. He passed Tank, who was staring with something resembling awe painted over his face, and barely spared a glance.

Gosalyn shot a look at Honker that he recognized as one of worry. To Beth's father, she said, "Why's she going home? And for how long?"

"We haven't really discussed it," said Bug. "I think - oh, hon, are you ready to go?" he interrupted himself suddenly. Honker and Gosalyn followed his gaze to see Beth on her doorstep, locking the door to her house. She turned towards her father's car, and upon noticing Gosalyn and Honker, she flinched noticeably.

"Beth, what the heck is going ON?" Gosalyn demanded as the brunette approached them. "Are you moving out?"

"No, no no no!" Beth said, her voice a little hoarse. She shook her head vehemently. "I'm coming back. I just have to take care of some business at home." She smiled at them, but Honker noticed it was a tight smile. "Did you guys meet my father and brother? Dad, these are Gosalyn Mallard, Honker Muddlefoot, and his older brother Tank."

The camera went off again, and Honker had to blink spots out of his eyes.

Beth paused, her smile even tighter, then continued, "Guys, this is my father Henry and my brother Bill."

"Hi," said Tank, unexpectedly. He was speaking in Bill's direction.

Bill, the giant who had been moving armloads at a time, nodded at him. "Beef," he said, his voice a deep rumble. Tank looked mystified.

Beth explained, "Everyone calls Bill 'Beef'." She looked put-upon. "So I guess you guys can too."

Gosalyn nodded, barely paying attention. "When are you coming home?"

Beth turned towards the car and didn't answer for a moment. When she did speak, it was without turning around. "I d-don't know. Um, soon, though. Really."

Something had happened, that was obvious. Honker looked at Gosalyn and realized she knew what was going on, or at least had an inkling. Beth looked to her father. "You guys got everything, right?"

"I think so, hon. Listen, can you and Beef get in together with the kids, and we'll get a good group shot?" He waved them into a tight knot of people, while Beth protested uselessly. The flash went off a third time. This time Honker deliberately blinked at the same time.

The Webfoot family members began to arrange themselves in the car. Gosalyn stood close by, looking troubled, but she kept her mouth shut. Beth had climbed into the back seat on the passenger side, which was behind Beef and as a result had very little leg room. As her father started the car up, she said, "Hang on a minute," and jumped back out.

"Gos," she said, her voice uncertain, "can you give Launchpad a message for me?"

"I guess so," said Gosalyn reluctantly. "What is it?"

"Tell him that -" Beth stopped, visibly thinking. "Tell him I'm very confused about things right now, but that I never meant to hurt him and - okay, wait, don't tell him that." She paused, her brow furrowed, then began again. "Okay, tell him I'm sorry and I know he'll be upset but that this is really what I need to do, and if he really cares- no no, oh don't tell him that. Gosalyn, forget everything I've said so far, okay?"

"Done," said Gosalyn immediately.

Beth sighed, looking down the street, lost in thought for a third time. "Tell him..." she began, but stopped, her eyes growing wide. Honker looked in the direction she was facing, and saw Gosalyn's father starting down the sidewalk of his house, towards the mailbox. "I have to go," said Beth, sounding panicky. She bolted towards the car and wedged herself back in behind Beef, then shouted, "Tell Launchpad I'll call him!"

The car pulled off before Gosalyn could answer. All three of them watched the car disappear into the distance, and after a moment, Gosalyn's father joined them.

They stood in silence, until Tank said, "Did you guys see that? That guy's neck was thicker than my _head_."


	3. Act II part 1

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

**Act II**

Beth knew she was dreaming, because the conversation was one she'd already had. She was sitting at the kitchen table in Drake's kitchen, and he was looking very serious, and she knew exactly what was coming. But even though she knew what he was going to tell her, she couldn't say or do anything to change it; she couldn't say the words that filled her thoughts, _Please don't say it, please just don't..._

"I don't love you," he said, "and I'm never going to love you."

It was bad enough the first time. But this time, this time she was even worse; this time she couldn't leave before the tears started, and she was sort of frozen there at the table with Drake looking at her without compassion or pity while she sobbed. And just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, her dream-self reached a new low, reaching her arms out to Drake and saying, "Please don't say that! I'll do anything, I'll be anyone, just _please_!"

She jolted herself awake through a sheer force of will, and opened her eyes to stare sightlessly into space. Without her glasses, it was all one big blur anyway, but she had no interest in seeing anything... A blur was better than what her mind had been feeding her.

At least she hadn't begged him in real life. She could take comfort in that, right? She hadn't begged or cried, not aloud, not in front of him.

Beth rolled over and pressed her face against her pillow, and wondered if she could just stop breathing and never have to get up again.

* * *

She dialed the phone, then listened to the rings and clenched at the receiver until her knuckles went white. It rang two and a half times before someone picked up. Her heart - which had seemed almost like it had stopped beating entirely while the phone rang - thudded into overactivity just at the sound of the pick-up.

The voice made things even worse, and her stomach turned over as all the breath left her lungs when Drake said, "Hello?" There was just no way she could answer, so she stood stupidly for a moment with her mouth open, trying to force out a request to talk to Launchpad. After a moment, Drake, sounding irritated, repeated, "Hel_lo_?"

She was halfway to hanging up the phone, but it occurred to her that he could do that star-sixty-nine trick and call right back. The thought was enough to unlock her vocal cords. In a higher pitch than usual, she squeaked out, "Is Mary there?"

"Mary? There's no Mary here," Drake said. The casual sound of his voice made her throat close up.

"Oh, sorry," she chirped. "Wrong number! Bye bye!" She slammed the phone onto its cradle on the wall, and clung to it with both hands, shaking.

Well. That had gone a little bit better than the first time, actually... The first time she'd called, Launchpad had answered, and she'd hung up the phone on instinct.

She'd been at her parents' house for three days now, and most of her days went in essentially the same pattern: sleeping, poking at food, avoiding her mother and older sister as much as possible, sitting on the couch while her younger siblings watched TV, and telling herself that it was about time she called Launchpad like she'd promised. Since she'd managed to move herself past the point where the very thought locked her out of any possibility of movement, she felt she was progressing. And she'd even managed to speak this time.

At this rate it would only be about another month or so before she actually was able to _see_ Launchpad or Drake face-to-face.

She sighed, forcing herself to relax, and let go of the telephone. The problem, she thought as she moved to the kitchen table and sank into a chair, was that life was going on in the Mallard house. Drake had sounded entirely normal. His life was fine without her; her life was over without him, but his life was just dandy.

She wouldn't think of Launchpad. She wasn't sure if it would be worse to find that he was miserable, or doing just dandy himself. Instead she thought at length about how "doing just dandy" was an odd turn of phrase. She'd have to look up the etymology of that one soon.

"Beth," said her mother, from just over her right shoulder, and Beth jumped. "Ye're just starin' into space again, pet."

"Yes, okay, thanks Mom." Beth put her hand to her forehead, as if her head hurt. Her mother often made her feel like she had a headache, even when she didn't. "Thanks, because I needed to know that."

"Well, ye looked like ye were thinkin'a somethin' unpleasant."

"I wasn't thinking of anything," she answered; the part that irritated her was that, for once, that had been true.

Her mother looked at her, using the look she got when she was trying to see _into_ her children. Eddie called it "piercing"; Candy just called it "nosy". "Y'sure ye wouldn't care to talk about it?"

"I'm sure. I'm _so_ sure."

"Ye've been here for days now, an' not so much as a peep about what happened t'drive ye out of yer city house -"

"My what?" Her mother made use of some odd turns of phrase, but Beth had never heard that one.

"Y'know, where ye live when ye're in the city." Irene picked up a pot and filled it with water, then put it to boil on the stove.

Beth groaned. "Mom, the city is the _only_ place I live! And it's really the suburbs - and it's no different from this place really, and oh GOD, you mean the 'city house' is where I live when I'm not here, don't you?" Her mother's silence was an answer in itself. "I haven't lived here since I was eighteen!"

"But ye're _always_ welcome," said Irene meaningfully, and reinforced the statement with another deeply searching look. "An' ye're changin the subject; we were talkin' about what's got ye so upset."

"No, we weren't."

Irene raised an eyebrow. "Clammin' it all up inside won't make pearls outta every bad grain o' sand, pet." She had a skillet going on the stove now, too, and was keeping a eye on them both.

Beth sighed. "Can you just understand that I don't want to talk about it right now? Especially not with family members?" As she finished the latter statement, her sister Candy entered the room, blonde hair shining in the morning light.

"Talk about what with family members?" Candy asked, and didn't wait for an answer. "Mom, I need you to do my hair for work."

Beth frowned. "You guys still do that?"

"We have a bond," Candy said lightly as she sat down at the table across from Beth. Irene moved smoothly behind her, producing a brush apparently from nowhere, and began arranging her daughter's hair and braiding it skillfully.

"I don't see why ye wanted to come here if ye just wanted to mope an' feel sorry fer yerself," said Irene around the hair elastic she'd clamped into her mouth.

Beth debated on answering, but Candy beat her to it. "'Cause if she stayed at home, no one would _see_ her moping and so no one would feel sorry for her." She sat forward as far as her mother's hands would allow her, resting her face in both her hands, and smiled sweetly.

Glaring, Beth said, "You would think that." Her face felt hot and her eyes started tingling, a sure sign that tears weren't far behind.

"Girls," said Irene mildly.

"Anyway, Mom, it's a guy," said Candy with certainty.

Beth sat forward, glaring harder now. "How could you possibly know that?"

"'Cause I know my baby sister," answered Candy. "Same old, same old, right? You put the old Bessie Webfoot charm on him and he took off?"

Swearing to herself that she wouldn't cry, Beth stood up quickly and headed for the kitchen door.

"Don't tease her like that, Candy," said Irene, a very light reproach in her voice. "Beth, don't ye want breakfast?"

"No!" said Beth. She noticed the way her voice caught on that single syllable, but hoped no one else did. It wasn't fair; how many other people had older sisters who kicked them when they were down? Even when they were nearing thirty and should have grown out of acting like spoiled little girls? She made for the living room, but stopped at the exit from the dining room and leaned against the wall, catching her breath. Her mother was right about one thing: she _was_ moping around and feeling sorry for herself. She didn't like it, she didn't like other people seeing her do it - Candy didn't know what she was talking about - but she didn't have the strength or the energy to stop.

She managed to tame the threat of tears down to a few wet-sounding sniffles, then wiped the moisture from the corners of her eyes and sighed. "Pathetic," she said quietly to no one. "Ought to be ashamed of yourself." She slid down the wall until her knees met her chin, and settled there, doing her best to think of nothing and not succeeding.

Candy passed through the room about five minutes later, her braid gleaming down her back. She was holding a piece of toast, and slipping into a bright yellow shirt that said "YARN BARN" in blue letters on the back. "So it is a guy, huh?" she asked quietly. Beth didn't answer, and Candy rolled her eyes. "Look, you should tell Mom at least that much. She's starting to freak out. And you know you don't want Mom freaking out on you." When Beth still didn't say anything, Candy squatted down beside her. "Come on, you big drama queen. Earth to Bessie, anyone in there?"

"Don't call me Bessie," Beth muttered. "You know I hate that."

"Well, whatever. It gets you talking, right?"

"Everything's a big joke to you, isn't it?" Beth asked, her voice growing tremulous again.

Candy shrugged. "Only the funny stuff. Seeing you crouching in the corner is definitely up on that list." She patted Beth's head condescendingly, and stood up. "See ya when I get home." Stuffing the toast in her mouth, she rushed out the door, sparing a wave into the living room for Ed and Kit as they watched TV.

Beth was able to wait another 48 seconds, and then she started to cry. She did it quietly, and was pretty certain that her younger brother and sister didn't notice. At least, no one said anything, and that was good enough.

When she was done, she wandered into the kitchen in hope of finding some tea. Her mother was finishing up with breakfast for the kids, and cornered her with a fork full of soggy bacon. "Don't move," she said emphatically.

Not feeling the least bit threatened, but deciding to heed Candy's warning about their mother "freaking out", Beth stayed put while Irene hustled a pair of plates out to Ed and Kit in the living room, then came back and faced down her daughter.

"I want ye go to an' see Dr. Mortimer."

"Dr. _Mortimer_?" said Beth, aware that it had come out as a squawk. "He's a _child_ therapist!"

"A therapist is a therapist," said Irene. She picked out a mug and poured hot water into it, plunked a tea bag in, and handed it to Beth without asking. Beth took it automatically. "An' he helped ye before."

"Yeah - when I was a _kid_!"

"No excuses, missy. If ye won't talk t'yer family who loves ye, then ye're goin' to talk to a trained perfessional. I'm sick of seein' ye starve yerself an' wander about cryin' when ye think no one's lookin'."

So this was what Candy had been warning her about. She was right; Beth didn't want this at all. She felt a bit guilty that her mother was worried, but it wasn't her mother's _business_, was it? "Mom - no. I'm not doing it."

"Yes y'are!"

"No!" They raised their voices at the same time and the result was a brief, but loud, squabble that nearly drove Beth out of the small kitchen. More quietly, she said, "I don't want to see a therapist, I just want some time to myself, and I definitely don't want to see Dr. Mortimer!"

"Well, it's too late, I've already made an appointment fer ye."

"You're bluffing," said Beth sternly. "You can't make an appointment for other adults, they won't let you. It's illegal." She wasn't sure of the legality of it, but it seemed fair to counter one bluff with another.

"I'm not bluffin'," said Irene smugly. "I had Candy call an' tell 'em she was you. Ye're goin' tomorra at 3:30 in the afternoon, an' no more questions."

Beth was so shocked she nearly dropped her mug of tea. "MOM! You didn't! Do you have any idea how - how _unethical_ that is?!"

"All's fair in love an' war, pet," answered Irene. She smiled, and patted her daughter's cheek.

* * *

The waiting room was full of toys. The only magazines that were in evidence were for children, or else all about parenting. Beth, who had never cared much for waiting rooms in the first place, felt all the more out of place as she sat completely by herself on a brightly-coloured couch and waited for her name to be called. Across the room from her, eyes fixed firmly on a magazine called _Mommy Madness_, a woman about her own age waited for her son or daughter to emerge from an appointment.

Beth had arrived early, expecting to have to fill out paperwork, but was told that that would be done later. As a result, she had a while to wait. She sat on the couch, resisting the urge to put her feet up on the cushions and draw her knees up to her chin; since she'd been a child, this had been the most comforting way for her to sit when she felt sad, and she'd kept the habit so long it was nearly instinctual. Her mind wandered, and she tried to keep it from doing so, but there was nothing to distract it.

She wondered what was going on back home. What were the Mallards doing? What was Drake doing? Had he caught any criminals? If she turned on the news, would she see him there, being congratulated for saving the nearby city of St. Canard? ...Or would she - she hated this thought, but it plagued her from time to time - would she see a brief blurb about how a vigilante in a busy city had been killed while trying to stop a holdup?

Her knees wanted badly to draw up to her chest. She fought the urge, but found herself missing Drake's voice and face, so much so that she ached. She crossed her legs and sat back on the couch, letting herself remember the lines in Drake's face, almost revelling in the hollow ache in her chest.

After a while, she pulled herself out of it. Self-pity was a luxury, and she didn't deserve many luxuries right now. Not when she was such a coward, running and hiding and _still_ avoiding the phone call she'd promised. A therapist, she thought, changing the track her mind was taking (she wouldn't think about Launchpad, it was too hard, she just wouldn't right now). Seeing a therapist. Maybe she should have done this years ago.

But the idea of talking to someone - even someone she knew, like Dr. Mortimer - left her feeling cold and empty. The idea of trying to tell him about Drake made her feel vulnerable and exposed; she wanted to keep him to herself, to hang on to just the little bit of him that she had left, the one part of him that wouldn't leave her heart and that she could guard like her guilty secret. If she talked about it, she might lose it.

And she couldn't talk about Launchpad. She just couldn't. Not to Dr. Mortimer, or - well, to anyone. She'd have to confess, then, to what a horrible person she was. If she was miserable herself, lonely and heartbroken, well, that was fine. She was the only one hurting, after all. But Beth Webfoot wasn't that kind of person; she couldn't keep her misery to herself, she had to take other people down with her.

To talk about Launchpad, she'd have to admit that she had basically found the nicest guy in the world, taken a knife and stuck it in his heart, and then twisted it. If she weren't so miserable, she'd consider herself a temptress (as laughable as that description was when applied to her); as it was, she was just selfish and stupid.

She looked up as the door to Dr. Mortimer's office opened, and a little girl stepped out, looking uncertain but happy. She saw her mother and skipped forward, then noticed Beth. As her mother took her by the hand and they left, the little girl eyed Beth with more than a little curiosity, and Beth became aware once more of the fact that she was a grown woman who was awaiting her appointment with a child psychologist.

A few more minutes went by while the pretty receptionist shuffled some papers, and then called out, "Bessie Webfoot? You can go see Dr. Mortimer now."

Beth winced, and stopped at the desk on her way towards the office. "It's Beth, not Bessie."

"Really? You gave your name as Bessie when you made the appointment," said the girl.

"Yeah, um..." Beth cleared her throat. "That's a mistake, I think. Maybe whoever took the message heard me wrong."

The smile never left the receptionist's face, but her voice - though still friendly - was unmistakably a tone harder when she spoke next. "Well, that would have been me, and I heard it just fine, so that's what I wrote down!"

"Uh-huh." Beth tried to match both the smile and the hardness, and failed on both counts. "I guess I was feeling... funny yesterday. Can - can we just change it to 'Beth' and forget 'Bessie' now?"

"Oh-kaaay," said the receptionist in a sing-song.

Beth started towards the office, then stepped back. "I'm not crazy," she said earnestly, then wished she hadn't. The receptionist just smiled and nodded at her. She decided she was going to get back at Candy for this, somehow, and made her way into Dr. Mortimer's office.

It was decorated in brown and gold, and hadn't changed in the eleven years since she'd last been inside. He had a few new pictures up, but she remembered quite well the mountain landscapes and the pictures of his two children when they were babies.

Dr. Mortimer himself looked much the same as he had when she was fifteen, too, although his hair was a little whiter. There may have been less of it - it was hard to tell, since he'd been balding when she'd seen him last anyway. As she entered the room and closed the door, he rose from the armchair he always inhabited during his sessions, and came forward with his hand held out. "Beth! It's so great to see you again."

She took his hand and shook it, smiling cautiously. "Hello, doctor."

"Look at you, all grown up," he said, and chuckled, patting her hand lightly before releasing it. "Well, you can have a seat anywhere and let's catch up!"

She sat, slowly, and suddenly remembered the first time she'd been here: he'd had a pair of chairs, and a "therapist's couch", and Beth - suspicious and unhappy to be there - had feared so strongly that her choice of seating would betray something about her that she'd second-guessed herself out of all options and ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor. She smiled at the memory, although in all honesty, it wasn't a pleasant one. None of her memories of her childhood were, it seemed.

When she appeared settled, Dr. Mortimer clapped his hands together and said, "Well!" in a sort of exhalation. "So what have you been doing in the past, what has it been - ten years?"

"Oh, nothing much," she answered, which she knew was stupid; her life was not in any way like it had been when she was a teenager. "I mean - I guess there's been a lot since I last saw you, but it's not a lot to talk about. I, um, I finished college..."

"Well, of course," he said, grinning. "What did you end up majoring in?"

"Double-majored in biology and mathematics," she answered, somewhat vaguely. Finding a focus for herself had been a struggle, she recalled; it was something she'd kept bringing up in her sessions, and his encouragements to follow the things she liked hadn't helped her to narrow it down. Trying to divide herself between biology, chemistry, and botany had been like trying to tear herself in three; finding a focus in math had been even harder. "Anyway, then I moved out - obviously... I live in St. Canard now, and I'm working for a multimedia information company called Fowler-Mergatroid... I do research in their botany department and I'm also writing some of the programming for their CD-Roms. They're going to be expanding later this year, onto the World Wide Web, and I'm hoping to get involved in that too."

"That all sounds terrific," he said. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and looked comfortable; it made Beth aware that she, too, had crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She didn't feel comfortable at all. She knew that any minute now, this pretense of small talk would end, and he would expect her to start talking.

Sure enough, it was only a minute or two more of pleasantries, and then he leaned forward slightly and spoke in a lower, more intimate voice. "Well, Beth, I've spoken with your mother a little bit and she told me you've been having some problems."

"Mm," said Beth, non-commitally, and tightened her arms. She looked to the left, at nothing. The response was almost instinctive.

"She said she was worried about you, and that you didn't seem to want to talk to your family about it. She seems to think you're bottling too much in, and she hoped you might want to talk to me about it and maybe sort a few things out. Is that what she told you? Does this sound about right, or did I get anything wrong?"

Beth, whose arms were about as tightly wound together as they could be, crossed her legs and began to bounce one lightly. Shrugging, she said, "Well, she's right in that I don't want to talk to her about it. But she's blown the whole thing out of proportion, I mean, this is nothing. Everyone has times when they just feel blue, right? I don't know why she has to act like I'm different, and I'm not allowed to feel sad."

Dr. Mortimer was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Of course you're allowed to be sad."

A lump grew in Beth's throat. She fought with it, trying to get it to go back down. Without any real awareness, she began to bounce her leg more quickly. "So then I really don't need to be here."

"Your mother was concerned that this was more than just normal sadness. But Beth, if you disagree with that, of course you don't have to be here. I was under the impression that, since you made the appointment-"

Beth let out a shaky breath. "I didn't make the appointment. My mom made my sister call and pretend to be me."

Dr. Mortimer looked surprised, but nodded a little. "I wondered about 'Bessie'."

With a quick, sharp laugh, Beth said, "Yeah."

"Well, then in that case, if you want to go you're welcome to. I'm just curious as to why you'd come all the way out here when you didn't want to - an appointment isn't legally binding, after all, and if you'd explained about your sister I'd have waived the last-minute cancellation fee."

Beth considered this. "Well, mostly because my mother would never have let the subject drop if I hadn't come out here. I mean - if she's willing to force someone to pretend to be me and make a fake appointment, what else do you think she's willing to do to get her way?"

Dr. Mortimer nodded again. "But you live in St. Canard, don't you? If you feel smothered by your mother's actions, why don't you just go home?"

"Oh, I can't do that," she said rapidly.

"Why not?"

She stopped. She was caught, and worse, the lump in her throat took advantage of her momentary silence to jump as far as it could. All of a sudden, she was fighting back tears. With a quick, muffled sniffle she put her hand over her eyes, feeling stupid.

Dr. Mortimer was already leaning forward with a box of tissues. "Don't worry," he said gently. "Do you want to talk about this?" She shook her head, taking a tissue and trying to cover as much of her face with it as she could. "That's fine," he said.

They sat in silence for a moment, until Beth had herself under control. In a shaky voice, she said, "I'm sorry. That happens sometimes, and I... I just don't seem to..."

"You don't need to apologize for how you feel," Dr. Mortimer said. He gave her a smile that was full of warmth and entirely without judgement. "There's nothing to feel ashamed of. Remember that: it's like you said, everyone's allowed to be sad. And sometimes, you feel more than just sad... That's allowed, too. And you're allowed to ask for help if you think you need it."

Beth sniffled, and found she needed to use the tissue once more. "I don't need help," she said roughly. "I just need some time."

"Would it be accurate to say you're going through a lot right now?"

She laughed a little, to her own surprise. "That sounds right." She wiped her eyes one last time, then folded the tissue into quarters. "But that's nothing new. It seems like, you know, my whole life it's been 'a lot'. Nothing's ever really gone right."

"From what you told me, it sounded like a lot of things have gone right. You finished college before most people ever start it, you've got your own place, a career with a future-"

She shook her head. "All those things... They just sort of happened. The things I want, they're not... I don't know." She stopped herself; she still really didn't want to talk to him about this stuff. There was just too much of it, and it was all in the 'don't think about it' section of her mind. Once she got started, she didn't know how she'd stop - and she didn't know how she'd be able to face some of it. "I guess everything comes at a price."

"Sometimes," Dr. Mortimer said. "Happiness doesn't have to, though."

Beth smiled to herself, a smile without any kind of positive emotion at all. "I don't know if I've ever been happy in my life," she said quietly.

There was a pause, and then he said, "Beth, it's your choice as to whether you want to keep seeing me. I might be reading into what you're saying, but I get the impression that you might like to have someone you can talk to, after all. I'm not here to judge, I'm just here to listen, and help if I can... But the choice is yours. And if you're not comfortable, you certainly don't have to come back."

Beth nodded, but didn't answer. They sat in silence for a few moments, and the moments became minutes. The clock ticked in a muffled rhythm. Finally, she said, "I could... maybe come back. I don't know yet."

"I have Friday afternoon at 2:30 available, if you want to make a tentative appointment." She nodded. "Okay. Let us know any time if you can't make it; I'll waive the cancellation fee."

"Okay. Thanks."

He gave her another interval of silence, and she sighed, then brought her feet up onto the chair in front of her and rested her cheek on her knees. It helped her breath more easily.

At last the clock struck 4 pm, and Dr. Mortimer stood up and offered her his hand. She felt like she was fifteen again, a child in the office of a much older adult, and didn't like the feeling. She shook her head politely, and stood up on her own.

He didn't seem offended. "Okay Beth, I'll see you Friday, then?"

"Maybe," she said.

"Maybe," he amended, and walked her to the door. "Now, if you do come, I'd like you to do some homework for me, okay?" He chuckled as if he'd made a joke, and she could just about hear him saying 'Get it? Because you're a genius!' "It seems to me, based on a few things you said, that you look back on your life with some regret."

Despite herself, Beth laughed again. She seemed to do that a lot when she was upset. "I guess you could say that," she agreed; her whole life was one big regret, from childhood on up to a few days ago.

"Well, if you can, I'd like you to write a little list for me. Nothing fancy - just three things, the three things you regret the most. I think it might give us a little focus, and we can look at those things and find out why you regret them, and maybe put them to bed once and for all."

At that moment, Beth made up her mind that she would not be coming back. "I'll see about that," she said, certain that it was a lie. As soon as she'd said it, she knew that she would be there after all.


	4. Act II part 2

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_A/N: I really wanted to post more but this was getting long. First flashback is coming up in the next part. For the record - I meant to say this earlier - I don't think of this "list of regrets" as an actual therapy technique. I doubt if it would work or even be a practical exercise for someone depressed! I confess that I came up with it just as a way to divide up the fic. I'm so lazy. XD I don't know how Dr. Mortimer comes across as a therapist, I'm doing my best but I'm not a therapist and I haven't been to see one in years. So we'll just give the benefit of the doubt, right? ;) As for the end, I know it looks abrupt but actually the flashback starts right after it, so if the next chapter were actually there it wouldn't seem so sudden._

* * *

**Act II, part II**

It was just past five o'clock when the phone rang, and Gosalyn had been struggling with covering her math book for about twenty minutes now. Normally at the start of the school year, she made a beeline for the books that still had covers left over from the year before, but this year either there were a lot fewer than usual, or everybody else had gotten lazy and taken her route. In any case, she'd ended up with a naked math book, and the brown paper bags didn't seem to want to cooperate with her folding technique no matter how much she threatened them.

When the phone rang, she took the welcome opportunity and shot out of her seat to answer it before her father could get it. This was standard practice during the school year anyway, and even though it was too early for her to have gotten into much trouble so far, it was good to begin the habit early.

"Eeyyyellooo?" she drawled, and appreciated the moment of baffled silence at the other extension.

Slowly, a voice on the other end spoke up. In a whisper, it asked, "Gosalyn?"

"Who is this?" she asked, exaggeratedly suspicious, and narrowed her eyes.

There was a pause, and the voice hissed, "Don't say anything when I tell you. It's Beth." Gosalyn didn't respond, and after a moment, Beth whispered, "Gosalyn? Are you - are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. You said not to say anything."

"Oh. Right. I just meant, you know, don't say my name or anything."

"Sure." Gosalyn rolled her eyes. In a loud whisper of her own, she asked, "Why are you whispering?"

"Um..." Beth spoke in a normal volume now, sounding confused and sheepish. "I'm not sure."

"Okay. Well."

"Well. Um, how are things? Still on vacation?"

Gosalyn took a moment to glare at her textbook. "Nah, school started yesterday."

"Really? Huh," Beth said vaguely. In a voice that suggested she might not care as much as she was hoping to appear to, she asked, "Do you like it so far?"

"Oh, you know. Been there, done that." Gosalyn couldn't think of anything else to say, and it was clear Beth's mind was elsewhere, so she added, "Did you want me to get Launchpad?"

"No!" Beth wasn't too loud, but she'd answered before Gosalyn had even finished saying the name, so her insistence was pretty clear. After a pause, most likely to compose herself, Beth repeated, "No. I, um, don't have time right now. But I was calling to ask if you could give him a message for me."

Gosalyn looked around for a pen, and didn't see one - or paper either, other than the stuff she was trying to use for her book. "Is this the kind of message you write down?"

"Well... Only if you think you need to do that to remember it," said Beth uncertainly.

She pondered this for a moment, then shrugged. "Nah, I think I'm okay. What didja want me to tell him?"

* * *

Launchpad had been spending a great deal more time at the Tower than usual, which Gosalyn knew was kind of like a non-verbal code that meant he was bummed out. It was so infrequent that Launchpad get bummed out that Gosalyn always found it depressing and a little creepy when he did. It was like something was fundamentally wrong in the universe, like if it was raining Kool-Aid.

When she arrived at the Tower, Launchpad was looking at a wrench as if he hadn't seen one before. She approached slowly, trying to make enough noise to let him know she was there but not enough to sound like she was up to something. "Hey, Launchpad?" she ventured.

He looked around quickly. "Oh. Hey Gos."

She was disappointed to note that he sounded as flat as he had the past couple of days. "Whatcha doing?"

"Well, I thought I'd do some work on the Ratcatcher," he said, eyeing the wrench again. "Except I guess I kinda already did all the tunin' up it needs right now. So I was tryin' to think if there was anything else to do up here."

"If you wanted to go home, you could take the fridge apart and put it back together," Gosalyn suggested. Launchpad laughed a little, which she took as a good sign. Pressing on, she said, "I have a message for you."

There was a very minor change in his posture, but no change in his voice, as he said, "Yeah?"

"Let me see if I can remember it all okay." Gosalyn actually found that maybe a pen would have come in handy anyway, but she strove to recall the whole thing. "Beth says she's doing fine, there's been some 'crazy family stuff' and she's sorry she hasn't been able to call yet. But she's going to within the next three or four days."

"Really?" And with that, it was like the cloud over Launchpad's head just dissolved. Gosalyn found _that_ a little creepy, too. "Did ya talk to her?"

"Well, yeah."

"How'd she sound? Normal? Did she seem okay?" Launchpad himself seemed almost jubilant. "Did she say she was gonna call for ME, or just call the house here?"

"Uh, she mentioned your name in there somewhere," said Gosalyn. "I have a math book that needs a wardrobe, Launchpad, so I gotta go."

"No problemo!" he said cheerfully, and saluted her with the wrench. "Think I'll check the engine in the TQ and see if I fixed that knocking sound it was making the other day. See ya!"

Actually, Gosalyn considered as she made her way back home, that had been so easy that she wished someone had thought of it sooner.

* * *

"Homework". She hadn't done homework since she was sixteen years old, or somewhere around then anyway, and it was a low blow to call this kind of thing "homework" anyway because it was just a way to get a hook into her.

Beth had steadfastly refused to make the list Dr. Mortimer had asked her to make, telling herself repeatedly that she was going to call and cancel that appointment on Friday. She made a vow to herself: if she could call Drake's house and not hang up, or anything else crazy like that, she obviously didn't need to see a therapist and she would have every right to cancel.

And she'd done it; she'd worked up her will, and late on Wednesday afternoon she'd managed to work up her nerve and make the call. The fact that she'd only spoken to Gosalyn, and not Drake or Launchpad, did not lessen her accomplishment.

Still, though, here it was Thursday night and she still hadn't cancelled the appointment. Why not? She was making progress on her own and she didn't need Dr. Mortimer to solve her problems for her.

But she was going to the appointment anyway. There was no point in denying it, because if it weren't true, she wouldn't be sitting here trying to think of what to put on this list. She could try to convince herself that it was just because she was curious, but she knew that was an excuse. She was going to the appointment, but she'd left the "homework" until the last minute, and now she was struggling with it.

The problem wasn't that she didn't have regrets. The problem was that she had so _many_: how could she narrow it down to three? What were the sources of the most regret and guilt? The years she'd wasted at Bindler's Hardware? Noah, Nicola, the girls at school? Her relationship with her mother?

Nothing jumped out at her; she didn't have any "eureka" moments, anything that seemed like the cornerstone of all her problems, the way Dr. Mortimer seemed to expect that she would.

She'd been staring at a blank piece of paper for a few hours now; it was past ten pm, so she sighed and scrawled three words onto the empty lines she'd come to resent: "School", "Family", and "People". Then she put a book over the list so that she could avoid thinking about it. Instead she got undressed, tossed a nightshirt on, and threw herself into bed.

Once in bed she couldn't sleep, which was no real surprise: she hadn't slept well at night since she'd arrived, and she ruined any possibilities of getting back to normal by napping frequently during the day. Instead she looked around her room, dim and blurry though it was; "just the way you left it," her mother liked to say, but that was stupid because aside from a few posters of famous paintings there was nothing of hers here. Her mother was overcompensating, had been for years, and it was too late to take back anything that happened before. She couldn't make up for it; she should just stop trying.

Beth lay on her back and looked at the ceiling, where glow-in-the-dark stars shone down on her. She shut her eyes and heard herself, seven years old, on a cold November day. _Mommy, I don't want to go... Please, Mommy, PLEASE!_

She blew out a breath and rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow, trying to clear all the memories out of her head.

* * *

"Hmm," said Dr. Mortimer, examining her list. Beth was bouncing her leg again, looking around the office as if trying to figure out what had changed during her absence. He was looking at the paper as though she'd done it wrong, which irritated Beth because she knew this was supposed to be a "no wrong answer" exercise; all these people-oriented tests were, and they made her nervous. Beth liked it when there was one right answer, because that way she could learn what it was, and understand it.

Dr. Mortimer looked up from the piece of paper, and smiled at her. "These are pretty broad answers, Beth," he said, almost chiding her.

"Well..." She shifted in her seat, and shrugged. "I had some trouble pin-pointing just three things."

"I understand," he said, and nodded. She knew he didn't, not really, despite what he said. "So these three things, they cover a lot... I guess we have a lot of ground to go over."

Beth hesitated, then scratched her forehead as an excuse to look at the floor instead of at him. "So you still want to talk about all this stuff, even though it's not narrowed down?"

"I want to talk about anything you want to talk about. I'm here to listen."

She paused, and silence stretched out between them. What she wanted to say was that she didn't intend to talk about any of it, but the words wouldn't leave her mouth.

"Beth?" Dr. Mortimer leaned forward. "Do you want to go on?"

She drew a breath, and instead of answering 'no', what came out of her mouth was, "I... guess so. Sure."

"Where do you want to start? Your family?"

"No." She had answered too quickly - he'd probably noticed how defensive she was, and - She made herself stop. Second-guessing Dr. Mortimer and what he thought of her was counterproductive. It made her nervous, and she just made herself look nuttier than she actually was. Regardless, though, she felt she had to give some kind of response. She cleared her throat. "I, um, I don't know why I wrote that about my family. There's nothing much to talk about there."

"Okay. Well, what about school? I always heard you liked school."

She cocked her head. "Oh, I did. I do. It's not... I don't mean learning, or _being_ in school. It was the school I was at." Dr. Mortimer nodded slowly; evidently he remembered some of this. "It was just... kind of... awkward."

"How so?"

She hesitated again. "We went over this when I used to come here."

"Well, I'm a lot older now than I used to be. Let's assume I've forgotten," he said, chuckling self-deprecatingly. Beth had to smile a little along with him. "Tell me about your school."

"It wasn't - their fault, really. I mean this was years ago, remember, back before everyone knew as much as they know now about kids' development and somehow they just thought that kids who were as smart as adults could function like them in other ways. I don't think it ever occurred to them that a seven-year-old needs her parents to grow up securely, you know?" She was surprised by how quickly all of that had come out of her.

As she paused, she heard the echo of herself again, pleading not to have to go. She closed her eyes and willed that out of her head, focusing on other things instead. "And my parents, you know, they just wanted to help. They got me an evaluation with a special counselor and the counselor recommended this special school for kids with high IQs. Professor Pinfeather's School For Gifted Youngsters."

"I remember."

Beth nodded. "Big fancy name, big fancy school. It was tremendously expensive, though, so my parents decided against it at first and the school moved me forward two grades instead. Which was... well, I remember it being kind of fun at first, but Candy didn't like it." She frowned, and her gaze turned inward. "All of a sudden I was in the grade _she_ was supposed to be in, two years early, and I was getting all the attention for it. So she kind of... Well, I don't know." Beth changed course abruptly, and shook her head, as if catching herself. "I don't know what she was responsible for. I mean, I was so much younger than everyone else -"

"So they talked down to you?"

"Well. They didn't talk to me much at all actually. I thought sometimes that Candy told everyone - but she couldn't have told _everyone_, could she? I'm... I'm sorry. Some days it seems like it's obvious that I just have some kind of persecution complex when it comes to my sister." She laughed nervously, hugging her elbows. "What happened was that word got out that I would do other people's homework for them - that I didn't mind. And I guess I didn't, I mean, I enjoyed the work and when I was doing it I could tell myself that I was doing it for my friends. And that was, you know..." She cleared her throat. "That was the only time I felt like I had friends, so..."

Dr. Mortimer nodded slowly, then asked another question. "Did you do each individual paper? How did you have the time?"

"Oh - I'd do batches," she said. "You know - like a sheet for a group? And then they'd all recopy it. And not everyone asked me, just a few people in each grade."

"In each grade?"

"Um, yeah, the older kids found out and since I was already doing well in third grade they just handed me harder stuff. So I think I was doing some of the fifth and sixth grade math stuff by the end. Actually, that was kind of fun, because I had to figure it out for myself instead of the teacher going over it again and again." She grinned a little, despite herself. "But it didn't make me popular. A lot of times people didn't even say 'thank you' when they picked the work up. I only kept doing it because..." She trailed off, uncertain she wanted to admit to this aloud. She took a breath. "Because I... I just thought, you know, if I kept being nice to people then eventually they'd be nice back. I thought that was how the world was supposed to work."

They sat in silence for a moment before Dr. Mortimer asked, "What do you think of that idea now?"

"Well, I guess..." She thought, and let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, but wasn't. "I guess I still try to think that. I guess I'm really naive."

"It's not a bad thing to think, you know."

"It's not true, though."

He looked at her kindly. "Isn't it?"

She looked away. They sat in silence for a moment, and then she went on. "Anyway - I don't know. My mom found out about the homework stuff, and that I didn't have any real friends, and she kind of freaked out. So my parents decided to send me to Professor Pinny's anyway, and they spent the next few months saving up for the tuition and the deposit. They didn't make it in time for the start of the school year, so I started fourth grade at the public school and was there until about November, and then I got shipped out."

"How was the start of fourth grade?"

She shrugged. "I don't remember it, actually. I know I was there for a couple of months, and my mother says it was more of the same, but to me being seven was the start of going to Pinny's. I don't remember the other school."

"Were you glad to go?"

"No." Beth shut her eyes. "I didn't want to. It was far away from home, and..." She opened them again, and looked out of the window. The day was overcast, and the leaves on the tree outside were bouncing in the wind. "I just didn't have a choice in the matter, and like I said, my parents _meant_ well. They really wanted me to thrive. I know that now, it's just... at the time..." She shook her head, changing direction again. "I think... The thing is, I think that if I'd stayed in public school... I think everything would have been different. I think it all would have worked out."

"Is that what you regret most about your years in school? Going away from your family and home, and not having the chance to live in a normal way?"

Beth winced. "That's... _part_ of it," she said carefully.


	5. Act II part 3

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_A/N: Siiiiigh. I think this story is going to be a LOT longer than I'd intended it to be - sorry. What I had planned was to get about twice as much covered in this chapter and it just did not happen, and I guess I'll finish it up in the next chapter. But AARGH, I wanted this fic to be a little shorter. Oh well - next time maybe. :P By the way, let me know if you can guess out my inspiration for the names of Beth's roommates. I had fun with that one. _

* * *

**Act II, part III**

November, 1974

During her first day at Professor Pinfeather's, Beth was called into the Headmaster's office. Despite the innocuous reason - it was a routine welcome spech for herself and the other handful of late arrivals - it was an unnerving, almost terrifying experience.

Although the other children were anywhere from 1 to 3 years younger than she was, Beth - small for her age - gave the appearance of being among the youngest in the room. She was too afraid to look around as the Headmaster spoke, in case he singled her out because of it. She wondered if anyone else was as scared as she was. She wished she could go home.

She'd expected the Headmaster to be Professor Pinfeather, but according to the nameplate on his desk his name was Humphrey Camelback. She wondered if she would ever get to meet Professor Pinfeather himself.

Mr. Camelback was talking about the rules of the school, the numbers of students, and the rate of success among its (so far few, since the school was still rather new) graduates. It was the kind of thing that would make more sense to talk about when you were signing up, not now that you were essentially stuck here.

"Today, you will sit in on the classes but not be expected to participate. After all, even in this self-paced environment we expect you will need a few days to adjust and meet the other students." Mr. Camelback smiled and folded his hands in front of him. "Elizabeth, as you are the eldest of our new group here, I would like you to be in charge of making sure everyone gets where they need to go."

"Um... Yes, sir," Beth said - or squeaked, more accurately. She wanted to refuse, but he seemed to think that he was doing her an honour. He probably thought she'd like the recognition, but having been the youngest in her family for seven years now, Beth wasn't prepared to shift into "oldest and in charge" mode.

They were dismissed, and Beth was given directions towards the classrooms, and then left alone - as a symbol, she guessed, of the school's belief in the independence of its students. She walked along the halls, staring at the decor - awards, sculptures, models, all kinds of objects of merit. Photographs and certificates on every wall. Beth turned to look out the windows, and realized that two of the four other kids were heading back down the hall they way they'd come.

She froze, wondering if she should say something. Back at home, she never said anything; someone else did. She did what she knew was right, but when anyone else broke the rules, Beth watched with an anxious feeling in her stomach, waiting and praying for someone else to come and stop it before it got out of hand.

No one was going to do that this time, she realized. She was the grown-up now; she'd been cast out, she barely even had parents anymore, so she was going to have to act responsible. Swallowing heavily, she managed, "Um - w-wait!"

The two kids stopped and turned to face her. One of them - a boy that Beth guessed wasn't older than five - was wearing an enormous pair of glasses, and the light shone off of them in a way that blanked out any sign of his eyes. Beth stared for a moment, wondering what it was like to wear glasses, if the boy ever misplaced them as she was sure she'd do all the time if she got saddled with them. The other child, meanwhile, stared back at her defiantly and answered, "No!"

Beth took a step backwards, but gathered herself and tried again. "We - Mr. Camelback said th-that the classrooms were th-this way. So we should-"

"We're not going to the classrooms!" said the boy with the glasses. He moved his head, and Beth could suddenly see his eyes as they met her own. She recognized the look in them as one worn by her older sister quite often, and she quailed at it despite the age difference.

"And you can't make us!" added the other boy. He grinned, showing rather unfortunately large front teeth, and then he turned back to his bespectacled friend. They shared a laugh, and took off running back down the hall.

Beth stared at them and tried not to cry. What should she do? Did "in charge" mean that she was supposed to go after them? Wouldn't that mean abandoning the other boy and girl she was meant to watch? She looked back at the two remaining children; the boy, clearly the youngest of the group, was looking at her with a worried expression. The girl, on the other hand, rolled her eyes and looked unimpressed.

Her stomach twisting unpleasantly, Beth gave a final look at the backs of the two retreating boys, and then sighed. "I - I guess... we should go to class?" she tried. The boy nodded; the girl heaved a big sigh and started walking ahead, leaving Beth behind.

* * *

For the second time that day, Beth stood in Mr. Camelback's office, this time quite alone.

"I have to admit, Elizabeth, I'm more than a little disappointed," he was saying. Beth stared at the carpet and her feet, watching them blur each time tears welled up in her eyes, and wished he'd stop calling her Elizabeth. The only time she ever heard her full name was when she was in trouble, and she was starting to dislike the sound of it. Mr. Camelback puffed on his pipe a few times, pacing in front of the bookshelf in his office, and then stopped and looked down at her. "I placed a good deal of responsibility on you, and trusted that you'd live up to that gift. Look up at me, please."

With an effort, Beth lifted her head to look at him, and clamped her bill together in a strained attempt to keep from weeping openly.

"If our maintenance man hadn't found Phillip and David when he had, they may well have done some real damage to the pipes in the basement. Now, of course, it is your first day here and no one expects you to fit in immediately. But," he stopped, crossed to his desk, and tapped the ashes from his pipe out into an ashtray, "Professor Pinfeather's holds its students to the highest standards. The task of watching over a few of your younger classmates is going to seem like child's play in comparison with some of your assignments later. Elizabeth, if you don't think you can keep up with your peers, you will not do well in our school."

She wanted to tell him that she would do just fine with schoolwork, that babysitting kids she'd just met was not the same thing as competing among scholars, that she had not wanted to watch the other kids in the least; but her throat hurt from holding back tears, and she was on the verge of choking from trying so hard to hold in sobs. She knew no words could possibly make it through her mouth, so she held herself rigid and waited to be dismissed.

Mr. Camelback scratched his nose, looking thoughtful, and finally spoke again. "Well, I'll make sure not to challenge you too much for the next few months at least, until we're sure you're up to the task. Some children respond at a slower pace than others... And it doesn't mean there's anything wrong, now does it?" He smiled, showing his teeth. Beth felt somehow as though his words meant the opposite of what he was saying. She nodded faintly, hoping this was the end.

"Very good. Well, Elizabeth, why don't you go on back to your dormitory room and get settled in. You can wait out the rest of the day there, rest up, and attend classes tomorrow." He gave her a tight smile, and waved his hand, dismissing her.

This, Beth understood, was a punishment rather than a reprieve. She swallowed hard, and said, "Yes, s-sir." Then she turned and left, with tears leaking from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, refusing to stop no matter how fiercely she rubbed at them.

* * *

It turned out that there was a class system in place in the school's cafeteria, one which Beth found herself unable to infiltrate. After standing in line for a dinner that was composed of more liquid than she was used to in her meals, she took her tray and moved placidly towards the nearest table. She put her food down on the table's surface and pulled the chair in behind her, but was stopped by an older boy. "Who said you could sit here?" he asked, his eyes pinning her with accusations.

She couldn't tell if he was simply telling her to leave, or if he was genuinely asking for the name of the person who had suggested she try that table. "Um - nuh-no one?" she stammered, stepping backwards under the intensity of his glare.

"Then why'd you think you could take up space here? The engineering club has this table," he said, clearly believing he was restating the obvious.

"Oh," said Beth weakly. "I'm new here," she added.

His expression didn't change, but the boy pointed to the left. "You can sit over there somewhere. Not here. This table's closed."

"Oh," Beth said again. She picked up her tray and moved along, feeling miserable but - at least - not on the verge of tears again. All she'd seemed to be able to do for the last 24 hours was cry; it was getting tiresome.

She arrived at the next table, but before she could even approach it, a girl met her eyes and shook her head. 'Not here,' said the girl's look. Two other girls turned and stared at her as she went past, the unwelcoming expression echoed on their faces.

Her chest felt heavy as she walked further into the cafeteria, in search of a free table. Each one was 'claimed' somehow, often in groups defined by gender but sometimes in groups that contained both boys and girls. It didn't matter; she wasn't welcome at any of them. With a rising feeling of frustration, Beth wondered how the heck she could manage to join any of these groups if she wasn't even allowed near them to try to get to know them.

She ended up at the farthest table in the room, surrounded yet again by younger children. A food fight erupted around her, and it lasted for nearly five minutes before some harried-looking teachers and cafeteria workers rushed in to break it up. Beth had tried to keep eating during it, and was sent back to her room to change out of the shirt she had on that was now heavily stained with watery spaghetti sauce. At least, she thought unhappily, they hadn't accused her of participating in the fight; a third visit with Mr. Camelback would have been too much.

* * *

Although she'd been in her room all day long, it wasn't until after dinner that Beth's roommates came back and met her. She'd known she would have roommates - why else would the room be so large, and furnished with two bunkbeds? - but the reality hadn't quite sunk in until the door had opened and the three girls had entered, stopped, and stared at her like she was an intruder.

She should probably introduce herself, she'd guessed, but the words hadn't come easily and so she'd just waited. The silence had gone on for a lot longer than she'd expected; apparently they were waiting for her to explain herself. Finally, the tallest one had asked, "Who are _you_?"

"Me?" Beth had asked stupidly. It had gone downhill from there; she'd introduced herself, and at first none of the three girls had bothered to return the favour, instead talking about her amongst themselves as if she wasn't there. They finally seemed to reach an agreement that there was room for her, and she'd been assigned to the bottom bunk on the bed furthest from the door (this had been the only bunk that didn't have a sheet on it, so she'd already assumed it would be hers).

As she'd set about making her bed, a second of the girls had taken the time to give her a hand, and introduce her to all three of her roommates. "I'm Pattie," she said, fanning a topsheet out over the bed before Beth had finished tucking her fitted sheet in around all the corners, "and that's Violet and Frieda."

"Don't touch any of my stuff or I swear I'll knock your teeth out," said Violet, who had been the first to speak when all three had entered.

"Okay," said Beth, trying to rescue her fitted sheet from where Pattie had left it buried. The older girl, meanwhile, had seated herself on Beth's half-unmade bed and was poking through one of her bags.

"Did you bring any chocolate or anything?" she asked.

"Um, no," said Beth, a little startled that apparently her own things were not off-limits the way the belongings of the other girls were. "My mother doesn't give me chocolate."

Pattie looked shocked. "That's crazy," she said, and walked away.

From the top bunk of the other bed, Frieda hung upside down and let her mop of curly hair swing out around her. "My Daddy's rich," she said matter-of-factly. "He's in plastics. What's your Daddy in?"

This question made no sense at all to Beth. She took a stab at an answer. "Khaki?"

All three girls looked at each other, then back at Beth as though she were something they'd found dried up in a corner of their closet.

They didn't speak to her much for the rest of the night. There was no sense of deliberately shunning her, or of mocking her; she got the impression that they simply had no interest in her at all, and were trying to forget she was there. Or maybe they weren't trying; maybe they had genuinely forgotten. She certainly wasn't making much noise, as she lay on the bottom bunk and stared up at the underside of the bunk above her. She hadn't brought any books - Candy had insisted that the books were meant to stay at home with her - so she just stared.

When the lights went out, she kept staring into the darkness, and wondered what she was doing there. A day before, she had been in her own bed, at home with her own sheets and her own blankets and her own parents. And now here she was, alone and lost and it was just the same as it had been back home, she had no friends, no one wanted to know her or talk to her.

No one wanted her anywhere.

Why had her parents sent her away? What had she done to make them get rid of her? What had made her mother so angry that she'd decided she didn't want Beth to be her daughter anymore, it must have been something, she couldn't have just woken up one day and decided she had two daughters too many - there must have been a moment when she'd seen Beth do something awful and decided she had to get rid of her.

Or maybe it had been a lot of moments. Maybe her mother had given Beth chance after chance, and Beth had flunked every test, not realizing she'd been given a test at all. She wished she'd been told. Maybe she could write home and ask to be given another try. She could tell her mother that she'd change, she'd change everything about herself until she got rid of everything that had made her mother stop loving her; she'd make friends, she'd clean her room the right way, she'd eat all her peas and not just her potatoes, whatever it took if only she could come home again.

She rolled over in her bed, shoving her face against her pillow, crying again and hating it.

From above her, Violet sighed. "New girl, knock off the sniffling or I swear I'll bust your nose."

* * *

The first few days dragged on, but once she'd made it through a week, Beth was surprised to find that the time passed a little more quickly. Instead of feeling like a month, each day only felt like a single week. She vowed to look on the bright side; she promised herself each day that she would make the best of things, be happy, be nice to everyone, and make friends. Without admitting it to herself, she still knew that this was only in hopes that her mother would learn of her progress and let her come home and try the public schools again.

The letter that arrived about two weeks after she'd started there ruined her efforts at good spirits, however. It was more than a week now since that letter had come, and Beth had taken it out and was rereading it while she ate her Thanksgiving dinner at an otherwise empty table. Throughout the school's cafeteria there was a handful of other students in similar settings, and even more tables that were simply empty.

The letter was brief, straightforward, and unapologetic, as was Beth's mother in general. The cost of enrolling Beth was so high, they hadn't managed to save enough money to bring her home for Thanksgiving, they'd see her at Christmas, it had been cleared with Dr. Camelback (_Doctor_ Camelback? Beth was confused; she couldn't remember ever having seen him with a stethoscope or anything but maybe he only wore that while he was doing his doctor work, and she'd only been to see him in his office) and everyone loved her.

Beth had cried after she'd read it, and hidden it under her mattress for three days before she'd decided to reread it. Since then she'd gone over it multiple times in search of hints; either something that indicated why her mother was mad at her, or else something that could tell her that her mother still loved her, maybe could be convinced to let her come home. Scanning the letter as closely as a seven-year-old - even one with very high reading comprehension skills - could do, she couldn't find any sign at all. Dr. Camelback had confirmed that the arrangements had been made for her to stay on campus for Thanksgiving. There were always a few students who lived too far away, or had other factors interfering with their departure, he said; there would be food and heat, and even one or two faculty members around. Smiling and gentle, he told her that she would even be given a Thanksgiving dinner for no extra charge, but he expected her to make it clear to her family that this year was an exception and Professor Pinfeather's was not in the habit of providing free meals outside of those covered in the room and board costs. His smile stayed on his face as he added that he was sure Beth's parents knew that, and again Beth had the clear sense that what he meant was the opposite of what he was saying.

Everyone had left early on Wednesday afternoon, except for the five or six other kids who were staying. Beth had spent a while trying to get used to the silence, and then had snuck into the library and raided some of the bookshelves (leaving a list of what she was taking out, since the librarian was not there). She hadn't known what to take out, so she'd taken two books from each section, and in the past 24 hours had finished a book on beginner's Latin, an instruction manual on how to use what appeared to be cards to program very large computers, and a sad story about two older kids who fell in love but then died. She was glad she'd also taken out a dictionary, because every single book she'd tried so far had used a ton of words she didn't know.

The Thanksgiving meal was better than what was usually served in the school's cafeteria, but the mashed potatoes were dry and the gravy was watery and the stuffing had something in it that looked like raisins but tasted like fish. Beth ate it anyway and ignored the look and flavour. She wondered what her family was doing, and if they had set a place in her honour. Or maybe they had a family of four at the dinner table, and that was all they wanted.

* * *

"I can sit here, right?" asked the girl.

Beth looked up from her oatmeal, startled, and looked around to be sure that the girl was speaking to her.

The past six weeks had brought adjustments: after a slightly bumpy start in her classes, Beth had grown used to the "self-paced" learning that was the signature style of Professor Pinfeather's. She'd learned names, managed to identify most of the better-known cliques, and knew all the people she should want to be friends with. Most importantly, she'd discovered that she was not the only outcast: all over the school there were kids of varying levels of popularity. Just because all the kids here were geniuses and held more of a genuine interest in doing the work they were assigned, that didn't put them all on the same social level; some were still "cool" and some were still "losers".

Beth wasn't either, apparently. She'd assumed that she had quickly been exiled into the status of pariah, but instead, few people seemed to take much notice of her at all. At first, she had gathered her nerve and tried to join in conversations; this had not gone well. Most of the cliques seemed to be closed to her from the start, and after investigating a little she'd learned that in many cases the kids had already been here, and had been in these groups, for years before she'd arrived.

But as long as she kept quiet, there was no hostility directed at her. No one made her do their homework; no one laughed at her, insulted her choice of clothing, or called her ugly. She'd seen the way a couple of kids here were treated, and that alone was enough, after a few weeks, to convince her that staying quiet and anonymous was the way to go.

Unfortunately, she wasn't used to things being quite this quiet. Despite telling herself that loneliness was a good swap for not being teased, her heart ached with envy whenever she looked at the group tables in the cafeteria or passed study groups in class. Even staying in her room just reinforced how alone she was; Frieda, Violet, and Pattie let her eat lunch with them occasionally, but it was usually punctuated by Pattie asking whether or not she was going to finish her lunch, or Frieda drawing attention to her beautifully coiffed hair. In all honesty, Beth wasn't impressed with Frieda's hair, but she relished the company even though she wasn't really allowed to speak much.

They let her spend time with them, but they really weren't her friends... It was more like they were her caretakers, assigned to make sure she wasn't _too_ alone, or _too_ sad. Beth tried to be grateful, but all she felt was gray.

And now, there was a girl she only vaguely recognized, asking her if she could sit at the same table. Beth stared; the girl was frizzy-haired, blonde, freckled, and a little on the pudgy side. She was looking at Beth expectantly and without a trace of uncertainty.

"Um... sure," Beth answered at last. "No one else is sitting there, so - so, sure."

"Great!" the girl said. Beth watched her to see if she would sit further down the table, on her own the way Beth was, or if she'd really intended to sit _with_ Beth. To her surprise, the blonde girl plopped down cheerfully in the seat right across from Beth, and smiled. "I'm Nicola."

"Hi," said Beth. It came out automatically. She paused, then offered her own name. "I'm Beth. Hi."

"Yeah, you said 'hi' already," said Nicola, giggling. The giggle was, surprisingly, not mean. "And I knew your name already. You started late, right?"

"Um... Yeah." How could anyone possibly know about her? Beth had been going for so long on the assumption that she was completely anonymous that this revelation made her a little nervous. "How..." She stopped; this was more talking than she'd done in weeks, and she never spoke much in general; she was rusty at this. "How'd you know who I am?"

"Oh, I've been watching you a little," said Nicola. She speared a very soft carrot and pushed it straight through a large pile of ketchup, then ate it. "I just started here this year, and it seems like everybody's either younger than me or they already have their own 'we're sooo cool!' clubs going, so I don't have anybody to talk to. But I see you a lot in class, and you're never talking to anyone either, and you don't look like you've got horns growing from your head so I thought we could be friends."

"Me? You - you want to be friends with _me_?" Now that she thought about it, Beth did recall seeing Nicola looking at her a few times in the past week or so; she'd chalked it up to general paranoia and told herself she was imagining it.

"Uh, yeah. Why, do _I_ have horns growing out of my head?"

Beth laughed a little. "No."

"Good. 'Cause I got enough grief with the freckles, and I _don't_ need horns." Nicola grinned, and took an enormous bite of hamburger, then stuffed another couple of limp carrots in with it.

"Well... what if they were pretty horns?" Beth tried.

"Depends. If they were pink, we could consider it."

And just like that, Professor Pinfeather's didn't seem quite so daunting anymore.


	6. Act II part 4

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_A/N: Wow... this took a long time to get done, huh? Well, it's long, so maybe by the time you finish it I'll have the next part done. Huge thanks to Amanda Rohrssen for looking over this for me before I posted it; she helped me straighten out a couple rough spots. Yay! In return I demand that you read her fic, "The Other McCawber Girl" (formerly known as "The Ties That Bind"), the origin story of Ariana McCawber. Guys it's awesome, seriously, just go read it. :)_

* * *

**Act II, part IV**

At the end of December, Beth had finally made it home for a full two weeks. After all the time she'd spent aching to be home, the trip had been nearly disastrous, and she was almost grateful to go back to school. With Nicola there, she nearly was looking forward to it.

Nicola was a year older than she was, and she talked a lot. She preferred to be in charge, and wouldn't allow any arguments against her suggestions of what to do each day. She was outspoken about her feelings, would sometimes sulk if Beth pointed out a reason why an idea wouldn't work, and from time to time would lose her temper and snap off an insult so quickly that she didn't even know what she was saying for another few seconds.

Beth adored her. It wasn't simply that Nicola was the first real friend she'd ever had; she was funny and friendly and despite the bossiness, genuinely wanted to be around Beth. She smiled, laughed, brought moments of actual happiness to Beth's day. The two girls were in many ways near opposites; yet Beth felt that Nicola was her perfect counterpoint, that their characters were in total harmony.

At home, Beth had taken orders: from her older sister, from her parents, from other kids and teachers. Making her own decisions was an autonomy she didn't expect, didn't need, and didn't want. Likewise, she was very used to listening, speaking only occasionally. Both of these went so perfectly with Nicola's expectations that any conflict between the two of them was minimal.

Unlike Beth, Nicola was quite happy to be away at school. It was, she said, a respite (Beth filed this word away mentally and looked it up in the dictionary later) from listening to her parents fight all the time; while they sorted a few things out, Nicola got to have adventures in boarding school. She had started the year with the other kids but had quickly found them to be cliquish and boring. Hearing that, Beth was flattered to know that she'd met Nicola's obviously high standards, when it seemed most everyone else at the school had not.

Nicola's strength was in imagination, an area where Beth was not known to shine. If Beth worked best in structure, Nicola thrived in vague theories and a few random options that she could string together. From January until June, Beth and Nicola were inseparable, and together they lived out various adventures and mysteries, decided on the names they would go by if they were Russian spies, described in detail their future husbands, and had a memorable incident in which Nicola tried to raise the dead (and succeeded mainly in creating a large stain on the hardwood floor in her dorm room).

This was the happiest Beth could remember being - although it wasn't a complete happiness. The time she spent outside of classes with Nicola was meant at least somewhat to keep her mind off of her family, but it only worked in part; her conversations couldn't keep on indefinitely, and not every activity with Nicola was so exciting that all other thoughts were kept at bay. Letters continued to arrive from her mother, but since none of them acknowledged Beth's own letters home - filled as they were with requests to be allowed to come back - Beth gradually stopped writing long letters, and then stopped writing all together. Instead she clung closer than ever to Nicola, and by the time the end of the term rolled around the thought of leaving her first, best, and only friend was almost physically painful.

Summer break didn't alleviate that pain; Beth's mother had taken a part-time job so that the family could make ends meet, and with Beef out at his sports events and Candy off with her friends, Beth spent quite a bit of time at home alone. She and Nicola exchanged letters all summer long, but that was a temporary fix and often just left her pining to see her friend again.

Her return to school that September was a curious mixture of dull misery and palpable relief; aside from Nicola, school was an extended experience of unhappiness where she was surrounded by peers who were at best indifferent to her, and teachers who often seemed for some reason to resent her. But it had Nicola; home had nothing at all.

Nicola was largely unchanged after the summer break, although Beth thought she might have been a bit bossier than before. This was still not a major concern for Beth, so she didn't say anything, just complied with Nicola's orders.

Nicola's big project this year was a spy club. She was convinced that she and Beth could both hone their spy skills and find out everything about everyone; if other people wanted to join, they could, but only after Nicola and Beth did a complete investigation on them and decided if they were trustworthy. The hardest thing about starting this club was finding a name; Beth's suggestion of "Spy Club" was immediately vetoed by Nicola, who wanted something flashier. She had clearly been hoping for a name that fit some kind of related acronym, like "S.E.C.R.E.T" or "S.H.U.S.H", but she couldn't come up with one that fancy. After hours of names like "Secret Hands Under Spies House", she gave up and started the S.A.A.C.: Secret Agents Anonymous Club. The acronym was a bit of a sore point with Nicola for weeks afterwards, and Beth did her best not to mention it.

They had meetings at every available opportunity - there was a lot of planning to do in the early stages, and a lot of reporting to do later - and although Beth was still rooming with two other girls who generally ignored her, she managed to spend most of her free time with Nicola in various spots on campus. When Nicola's tiny room was occupied, they'd meet in the girl's bathroom on the third floor, the one that was nearly always empty. They ate meals together, but each week one of them had to take an assignment to investigate someone, so there were necessary absences from one another on occasion. Beth tried to make these absences as brief as possible, not only out of loneliness but out of a general unease in following people around.

The first hint of anything being wrong was probably around here, although Beth didn't notice it at the time. Nicola was investigating people; she was off on her own quite a lot, and people were bound to notice her lurking about. For other girls - popular girls - to suddenly be speaking to her in the halls was probably a direct result of her following them around and scribbling things in notebooks, and Beth wrote it off that way. She asked once, and Nicola said it wasn't even worth talking about, then accused her of being boring. Beth did not ask questions like that again.

* * *

Beth found herself wishing that Christmas that year had never happened. After another uncomfortable few weeks at home, she returned to school and was terrified to find that Nicola's interest in her seemed lackluster. She snapped more often, but since that had been happening gradually over the previous semester, in itself it wasn't necessarily a bad sign. Far more unnerving to Beth were the increased silences, which for a gregarious girl like Nicola seemed almost swollen with ill portent. They met regularly for the S.A.A.C., compared notes on classmates and teachers as usual, but Nicola dismissed the meetings more quickly, and she spent more time on her own than she had previously.

Beth was able, at first, to tell herself that she was being paranoid. Either the amount of time they spent together was the same, or else Nicola was simply in need of some free time to read, or catch up on schoolwork. Perfectly normal. Except that Beth's dedication to this theory wavered whenever she saw Nicola talking in the halls to other girls - Bea Canard, for instance, or (as Nicola herself had dubbed her) the Incredibly Perfect Alison Macaw. Nicola and _Alison_ - the combination jarred her, not because Beth herself had anything against Alison, but because Nicola so recently had and had spent a good number of months trying to convince Beth that Alison was a stuck-up snob.

There were two possible explanations: Nicola was infiltrating these circles in the name of the Secret Agents Anonymous Club, or - upsetting, but given Nicola's silence on the matter, more evidently likely - Nicola wanted more friends. More upsetting, she seemed to be more able to get these friends than she had been before, and Beth was increasingly nervous.

She wanted to broach the subject; she tried, but no words came out, so their S.A.A.C. meetings would have moments of silence during which Beth felt bloated by questions she needed to ask and couldn't express. And Nicola would stare at the ceiling, or sigh and tap her notepad, and finally dismiss the meeting.

It was mid-February before anything finally happened. Beth had delivered a concise, detailed observational report about Noah Webber, Nicola had recorded it into the minutes and speculated on whether or not it meant Noah was a double-agent, and they had sunk into another silence. As Beth tried to find a way to spit out the words "Do you still like me?", or at least something that meant approximately the same thing but might not lead to a totally devastating answer if it wasn't the one she hoped for, Nicola sighed, stared at the ceiling, tapped her notepad with her pen, and finally asked sharply, "Why don't you want any other friends, Beth?"

Taken by surprise, Beth jumped. "What?"

"I just don't get it. I don't know why you're so against being friends with anyone but me. It's weird."

Beth thought for a moment that she might cry. Filled with fear, she said desperately, "But I do! I mean I'm not! I mean - I want to be friends with other people, I really do! I just don't know how and - and nobody wants to be friends with me."

Nicola was shaking her head. "That's because they all think you don't like them. You never talk to anyone. What are they supposed to think?"

With an effort to keep from sliding into a stammer, Beth said quietly, "They never talk to me either."

This didn't deter Nicola's certainty, but she did seem gentler as she pulled her chair closer to Beth's and looked her in the eye. "'Cause they're used to you not saying anything. Trust me, Beth, you've _gotta_ be more outgoing. If you don't say anything, everyone will think you're stuck up."

"Oh." The soft syllable was as much as Beth could manage. This was, in fact, so close to something that her mother had said to her over dinner back in December that Beth found herself wondering if her mother and Nicola had been talking to each other. The idea was ridiculous, of course, but she was unsettled nevertheless.

"I mean, I've tried to introduce you to people. And you just stood there. It was _totally_ embarrassing." Nicola frowned, apparently oblivious to Beth's mood. Beth, in turn, tried to sink into her chair; she consoled herself with the thought that at least she had the answer to the question she hadn't been able to ask, and it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. "Everyone asked me later why you thought you were so great and I didn't know what to say."

"I _don't_ think I'm so great," said Beth miserably. She was going to cry, and knew she couldn't prevent it, so she just kept her eyes on the ground. "I don't think that at _all_, I just don't know what to say to people."

"It's okay," said Nicola, patting her on the hand. She was the picture of graciousness now, and Beth felt deeply and disproportionately grateful, as though Nicola was going out of her way to help a stranger instead of just cheering up her best friend. "I'll explain things to Bea and some of her friends, and I bet we can sit with them at lunch. You've just gotta open up and you'll see, they're really friendly and easy to get along with."

"Okay," said Beth. She let Nicola take her hand, and felt comforted. Sniffling, she wiped her eyes and said, "But I don't know what to talk about."

"Talk about whatever," said Nicola encouragingly. "It doesn't matter what, as long as you're friendly."

* * *

After that, lunches were excruciating.

The first few just consisted of a bunch of girls giggling and chattering non-stop, with Beth as an observer - occasionally on the receiving end of a curious glance or, more often, a dubious once-over from the others. After two or three days, however, Nicola told Beth in no uncertain terms that she had to start interacting; people were talking and it wasn't good, and it was making Nicola look bad.

Beth didn't ask why no one had tried to talk to her first; she sensed that question was moot. If Nicola was being made to look bad because of her, then she would change; she would go against her instincts for her friend. And if Nicola was right, then Beth would end up with a great deal more friends than she had before.

The next day, Beth listened to the conversations around her for a few minutes to try and get the feel of them. It wasn't easy; the girls were talking about movies she hadn't seen, music she hadn't heard, and rumours about various other students that she knew nothing about.

It seemed easier to start a whole new topic than to try to join in on this, so at a pause in the conversation, Beth said, "You know what kind of animal I really like?"

The table went quiet, and all four of the girls who had invited Beth and Nicola to sit with them turned to stare at her. Nicola, Beth noticed, specifically did not.

Attempting a friendly smile, Beth said, "Tadpoles. They're really neat."

"You like _tadpoles_?" said the girl sitting nearest Nicola. "They don't have any legs. They're really gross."

"Well - no, they don't, but -" Beth's attempt to explain that the leglessness of tadpoles was part of why she thought they were so interesting was lost under another girl's shriek.

"OH! You know who reminds me of a tadpole? RANA STAUROIS!"

More shrieks ensued as everyone agreed, except Beth, who found the comparison a little bit unfair - and odd, since Rana did in fact have arms and legs. She didn't say anything, but when conversation quieted down again for a moment, she tried again. "So, so what's everyone's favourite food?" Again, all eyes turned to her - except Nicola's, she noticed for a second time. No one answered, so she offered an opinion to get the ball rolling. "Mine is spaghetti and meatballs. Though I guess that's technically two foods - or maybe that's only if you count the ingredients. Oh, but there are ingredients that go into the spaghetti and into the meatballs, aren't there? Should I just choose one of the two or..." She trailed off. Everyone was still staring. They kept staring until she'd been silent for a good ten seconds, and then conversation picked back up as if she'd never spoken.

She didn't try a third time.

* * *

It wouldn't actually have been so bad if Nicola hadn't been so upset. "_Tad_poles? Come ON, Beth, what are you trying to do to me?"

"I told you, I don't know what to talk about," Beth said. She was staring at her lap. "I'm sorry."

"You can stuff your sorries in a sack!" said Nicola huffily. "How can you not know what to talk about? ANYthing, I said, but I mean - tadpoles? Who wants to talk about _tadpoles_?"

"Then what should I talk about?"

"The usual things!" Nicola cast about for a moment, and came up with, "Boys! Other kids! What the teachers said! The kinds of things everyone _else_ talks about!"

Those things didn't interest Beth at all, and she said so. "It all sounded kind of... mean," she added.

"Those girls are my _friends_," Nicola said dangerously. "Are you saying my friends are mean?"

"No!" Beth honestly hadn't meant to make that implication, and she struggled to make that clear. "Of course not! I'm sure they're all very nice, and- and they probably just don't know that they could hurt someone's feelings saying things like that..."

"Uh-huh." Nicola crossed her arms, then sighed. "Do you wanna try again tomorrow?"

"Um..." Beth tried to look brave, but it was apparently obvious that she would rather risk piranha-infested waters than try to weave her way into the conversation at the "popular girls'" table. Nicola softened.

"Okay," she said gently. "You don't have to eat with us."

_Us?_ "You... you're not going to eat with me anymore?"

"Not every day!" she said defensively. "I mean, of course I will sometimes! But I can't just ditch Bea and Ellen and the others all of a sudden!" Nicola leaned forward, suddenly looking desperate. "Beth, you gotta understand, you're totally my best friend. You really, really are. But I'm not like you - I've been wanting to be in with these girls for _so long_ now and I finally get to sit at their table and... I just _can't_ lose out on this!"

Beth had a lump in her throat; she had a very bad feeling that this was not going to end well. But she swallowed it, and wiped at her eyes discreetly. "You're my best friend too," she said softly.

Nicola smiled. "I promise I'll eat lunch with you every other day, okay? No matter what they say. You'll stick around for me, right?"

"Of course!"

"Beth, you are totally groovy," said Nicola, with a relieved sigh. Beth herself felt much lighter now that the matter had been settled. "And we still have the S.A.A.C. That's just our thing, I promise."

They even clenched pinkies on it.

* * *

When Beth saw Nicola at the start of the next school year, she was instantly relieved. Within five seconds, her relief had faded and been replaced with a general, low-key alarm.

The relief was just from knowing that Nicola was okay. Just like the year before, the two girls had promised to keep in touch over the summer. However, after the first two letters they'd exchanged, Nicola's letters had just stopped. Beth had sent a third, and then two more over the summer break - one detailing the events on her ninth birthday (or non-events might have been a more apt description) in July, and one towards the end of August asking rather plaintively if everything was okay. She hadn't heard anything in reply and was near a panic by the time her bus had come to take her back to Professor Pinfeather's.

The alarm came when she noticed Nicola's appearance. It seemed that, over the summer, Nicola had decided she needed a new look. To start with, she'd dropped the extra weight she'd been carrying since Beth had known her; that was only the start, though. It was as if she'd decided that ten years old wasn't old enough. She'd straightened her hair, she was wearing makeup to cover her freckles, and her eyes were outlined in deep black. She wore bangles on each wrist, a choker around her neck, and thigh-high boots. She looked, to use a phrase Beth had heard in a movie over the summer, "devastatingly fatal".

"Wow," was all Beth could manage to say when she came face-to-face with her best friend. Nicola rolled her eyes. Beth assumed she should follow that up with something. "You look... um, cool."

"You're so grody," said Nicola. She and Beth had put in to share a room this year, and Beth had spent the entire summer looking forward to it. Nicola was already mostly unpacked, and had papered the walls with posters of boy groups that Beth had never heard of.

She wasn't sure what 'grody' meant, but maybe it was like 'groovy', which had been Nicola's favourite word the year before. Beth smiled tentatively. "Um, thanks." Nicola didn't answer, but she gave a little snort of laughter as she turned away. "So... so, how was your summer?"

Without turning to face Beth, Nicola said, "Groovy. I got to do whatever I wanted." She ran her fingers through her hair, tossing her head as she did; Beth was reminded of her sister Candy, and she couldn't keep from frowning. "My mom took me to Paris and my daddy took me to Athens. Did YOU go anywhere?"

Beth cleared her throat uncomfortably. Nicola was well aware of her family's money problems, and so that comment was a little insensitive... But Nicola had probably just forgotten. "We, um, we had a weekend at the beach in St. Canard. You know, the Audubon Bay? It was nice."

"Oh. Wow. I heard that place is pretty run-down."

"It... it was nice." Beth stood still for a moment longer, then picked up her suitcase and started to unpack. Nicola didn't say anything more, but she pulled out a new stereo - complete with eight-track player - and started playing music.

* * *

The previous year, Nicola had been true to her word; she'd alternated who she ate with each day, either Beth or Bea and her friends. Sometimes Bea's group included Alison Macaw, and on those days Beth had watched carefully from across the room to see how Alison and Nicola had gotten on. They didn't seem to talk to one another a great deal, which had been a relief to Beth.

As the year had gone on, Beth had joined the lunch group a few more times, with a bit less expectation put on her. Sometimes the girls had even asked her for her opinions on things, or just to talk about whatever she wanted, and Beth felt herself growing a bit more comfortable with conversation at those times. It was easy, actually, when you really got rolling with it. Sometimes the girls would just sit and listen for minutes on end, and Beth would just keep talking and they'd keep nodding and smiling and giggling. Nicola didn't usually look at her while that was going on; she didn't giggle, either, she just looked at her lap.

But this year, Nicola didn't ask her to come sit with Bea and the others. She still alternated her lunches between Beth and the other girls, but there was never any invitation.

She also cancelled the S.A.A.C. "It was totally a baby club," she said the first night of the semester. "I did a lot of growing up this summer, Beth. You'll dig it when you're older."

"Okay," said Beth. It was all she could say.

Nicola was colder. That was the only way to explain it. She was hip, she was cool, and being cool meant she was cold. If she hadn't promised that she and Beth were going to be best friends forever, Beth might have been worried. As it was, Beth tried to be confident in her friend's promise, and just trust her. Apparently this was something Nicola had to do, and Beth was going to stick by her through thick and thin.

There were, however, a lot of silences. Beth, recalling the advice she'd received from both Nicola and her own mother, tried filling the silences up instead of letting them linger like holes. That way Nicola would know that Beth wasn't stuck up, and that she still liked her. So their roles were somewhat reversed; Nicola had grown to be the quiet one, and Beth was the one who tried to keep the conversation going.

It would have been easier though if Nicola had given more of a response. About _anything_.

One night after lights-out, Beth had given Nicola a synopsis of the three books she'd read over the summer, all about a magical ring and the people who had to destroy it. She had an idea that Nicola had fallen asleep, so she'd stopped the synopsis short of the end - which, it occurred to her, was for the best anyway in case Nicola wanted to read the books too - and was starting to fall asleep herself, when Nicola's voice cut through the darkness.

"My parents got a divorce."

Beth propped herself up on one elbow. "What?" she asked, and felt stupid. She knew what she'd heard.

Nicola lay perfectly still, and her voice was without emotion. "It was final in June. I spent all summer going back and forth between them. And they gave me stuff and took me places so I'd tell them I loved whichever one I was with more than the other." There was a quiet little noise, and Beth realized Nicola was crying.

"Oh, my gosh," said Beth in a whisper. "I'm... I'm so sorry."

Sniffling, Nicola said, "It was awful. I'm so glad I'm back here. I hated being at home."

"As long as we're together, everything is okay," said Beth. Nicola didn't answer. "Any time you need to talk... You can tell me anything, okay?"

"Yeah. I know." There was another sniffle, and a rustling as Nicola wiped her eyes.

Beth slid out of her bed and crossed the small room, and Nicola folded back her sheets so that Beth could get in. She wrapped her arms around her friend, and they fell asleep together.

* * *

By all reasonable expectations things should have started to get better after that. But it was the opposite instead: Nicola was around less and less, and when she was she was snappier and colder than ever before. She listened to music constantly and she never even cracked a schoolbook open. By the end of September, Beth was so worried about her that she finally said something.

"If it's such a big deal that my work gets done, why don't YOU do it?" Nicola had said. She seemed to resent any sign that Beth cared about her at all.

Out of love for her friend, Beth had indeed begun to tackle Nicola's work assignments. She knew it wouldn't work for long, though; the curriculum at Pinny's was one of self-pacing, and if Nicola wasn't actually learning anything she could hardly progress in her classes. It would very quickly be obvious that she wasn't studying.

Beth ventured to ask one evening how things with Nicola's parents were. Nicola's response was a snort. "I don't know. I don't think about them all that much."

"Really?"

Nicola caught the meaning that was hidden in the heart of the single word, and she seemed to bristle at it. "Look, what are you, my mom? It doesn't really bother me. I was upset over something else before, but people get divorced all the time and it's not that big of a deal." She walked over and snapped shut the book that Beth had been working out of, emphasizing her action with a command: "So _lay off_."

After a moment's pause, Beth said, "Okay." Nicola had gone back and slumped on her bed. Beth added, "Sorry."

But Nicola turned towards her wall and started humming along with her music. Beth did both sets of homework, read a few chapters of a manual on raising kitchen herbs, and eventually went to sleep.

Thanks to Beth's help, Nicola coasted along in classes until mid-October before she was caught. She got a stern talking to - as did Beth, for helping her and "betraying all that Professor Pinfeather's stood for" - and, when her efforts didn't improve, she was taken into Dr. Camelback's office and her parents were called. Nicola was in the office for a couple of hours. When she emerged, she didn't say what had happened, but her air was unmistakably smug.

She'd been eating most of her lunches with Bea and Alison and the others for weeks already. Beth usually brought a book and waited to see if Nicola would show up at her table, but she was starting to have a definite feeling that would not happen again. Their room was almost devoid of conversation - she had stopped trying to get anything started, since Nicola usually just turned on music and ignored her - and Beth's stomach was at this point always tied up into horrible little knots, whether Nicola was in their room or not.

Beth put her book down and rubbed at her eye - she was beginning to get a headache, and her eyes felt a little funny and watery - and when she looked up, she noticed the girls at Nicola's table were looking at her. She blinked, and raised a hand to wave uncertainly; most of them responded by bringing their hands to their mouths, apparently to cover a sudden onset of the giggles. Nicola was among those girls. Alison Macaw didn't giggle, but she did roll her eyes. Beth lowered her hand, wondering what was going on, and warily picked her book back up.

That night Nicola didn't come back to their room.

Beth saw her in the hallway the next day, but when she approached Nicola took off in the opposite direction. "Wait! Nicola!" Beth called after her, increasing her pace, and finally Nicola came to an abrupt halt and spun to face her.

"What?!" she asked snappishly.

Unprepared for this reaction, Beth stopped in her tracks as well. "You... you didn't come in last night and I didn't kn-know where you..."

"Oh come ON! What are you, my mom?" Beth wondered why Nicola kept saying this. She frowned and didn't answer. "I don't have to get your permission to go anywhere, you know. I can go see my friends and stay in their rooms if I want to."

"It's... it's against the rules not to be in your own room after lights-out."

"Oh, MERCY," said Nicola, throwing her hands into the air dramatically. "You're SUCH a goody-goody!"

Beth didn't trust herself to answer. She took a step backwards, and her vision became blurry.

"And now you're gonna cry, huh? See, this is what I have to live with all the time!" Alison Macaw had joined Nicola, and was standing in front of Beth now with a superior expression on her face.

It was like some awful nightmare. This _couldn't_ be Nicola, it couldn't possibly. Beth felt her throat clench, and for the first time, she hated Alison Macaw with a passion. "Why are you being like this?" she asked in a harsh whisper. Her words felt hot as they left her mouth.

Alison giggled. Nicola looked put upon, and answered, "I can't believe _you're_ asking _me_ that. Look, Beth, do you have ANY idea what it's like to live with you? To be your friend? You are _so_ needy I just can't take it anymore! It's like I can't even take a breath without asking you first if that's okay or if you mind sharing the air!"

That wasn't true. Beth was almost sure it wasn't true. The accusation was so unfair that for a moment Beth was totally thrown by it, and couldn't even shake her head.

Nicola went on. She had a little crowd gathering around her now. "And maybe if you were into some _normal_ things it wouldn't be so bad, but it's like, you're just such a _baby_. I'm not a babysitter, you know! I mean, what am I supposed to do? Just stick around and change your diapers?"

The girls watching all giggled. It wasn't fair. Nicola was using her to make herself look cool, and she was being mean, and these girls were all horrible people who hated Beth for no reason at all. Beth took a step back, trying and failing not to cry, feeling angrier with each passing moment. She took a deep breath, and said as loudly as she could, "STOP it."

But Nicola was on a roll. "Stop it," she said mockingly. Beth put her hands over her ears; it felt like something was living in her throat, something evil and angry. "Poor baby! Poor poor crying baby!" Encouraged by the laughter, Nicola added, "And what if I don't stop? Are you gonna tell your Mommy and Daddy?"

The anger overtook her at last. "At least I can tell them both at the same time!" Beth shouted. The words just flew out of her. Nicola's eyes went wide and she took a step back, her countenance going distinctly pale.

None of the girls seemed to notice Nicola's sudden change. Bea, on her left, asked stridently, "What is THAT supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Beth, with no apparent control over the words coming out of her mouth, "that _I_ didn't screw up my parents' marriage and make them stop loving each other." She couldn't believe she'd said it. It was worse when Nicola's eyes met hers; they were wide with shock, and a second later they were full of tears.

The demon that had been possessing Beth left her, and she put her hands to her mouth just as Nicola turned and fled down the corridor, sobbing.

Several girls stared at Beth, open-mouthed, while the rest went after Nicola to comfort her. "I can't believe you _said_ that," said Alison Macaw, who was among the last to leave. "You're _horrible._"

And with that, Beth was alone, her head full of the sound of her own heartbeat and ragged breaths.

* * *

Everything seemed to move quickly for the next few days. Beth remembered time spent in Dr. Camelback's office, long talks with staff members, disapproving looks, Nicola sniffling on one side of the room while Beth felt sick and guilty on the other.

She tried to say she was sorry. Nicola wouldn't look at her, and the teachers gently pushed her away with words that implied Nicola needed to be alone, and a tone that definitely stated that Beth had done enough already.

No one would speak to her. Beth's anonymity - so taken for granted until now - was gone, and she was a pariah. Backs were turned on her, whispers followed in her wake. Certainly not everyone in the school hated her, but for months it seemed that way.

And she deserved it. Beth had no doubt in her mind that she deserved the blame and the anger that the other children had to put upon her; Nicola had trusted her with a confidence and Beth had knowingly, deliberately broken it. It didn't matter that she'd been goaded into it - the look in Nicola's eyes would haunt her for years to come, perhaps for her entire life.

Never again, Beth vowed, NEVER would she lash out at someone like that. She would never get angry again, no matter what anyone said or did; she would never cause anyone that kind of pain, even if no one else took that kind of care for her. She just couldn't live with herself if she did.

Time passed, as it always must. Life went on. Beth spent her remaining three years at Professor Pinfeather's School for Gifted Youngsters the way most of its students did: studying, working, and thinking. Her life was quieter than most, but not as quiet as it had been.

She went through a constant succession of roommates. She read 653 books. She knew the names of nearly all the students in the school in any given year and developed a habit of learning at least one thing about them, held over from the S.A.A.C. She discovered that chemistry was one of the great joys of the scientific world. She fell in love with plants. She graduated with honours and an offer for a scholarship of continued education, approximately six weeks before her 13th birthday. She had no more friends.

* * *

**Now**

"What exactly did you say to her, to make her so upset?"

Dr. Mortimer waited in silence while Beth decided whether to answer. Finally she offered, "Um... I don't know if I want to say."

"That's alright."

There was another pause, and Beth shrugged. It was years ago, maybe it wouldn't sound so bad out loud anymore. "I basically... told her that her parents were getting a divorce because of her." It still sounded bad. She winced and wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

Dr. Mortimer nodded. "You _were_ angry."

"Mm." Beth felt glad again that she hadn't given him all the details of her life leading up to that point. That would never fit into an hour-long session, anyway.

"So you didn't interact with Nicola at all after that? Beyond the normal amount when going to the same school, that is?"

Beth shrugged non-committally.

"That's your biggest regret, then? The loss of that friendship?"

"Well..." _Was_ that her biggest regret about her time spent at Professor Pinny's? There was just so much - it had been such an awful experience - Beth couldn't pinpoint one thing. "Maybe. I mean... if I hadn't said anything..."

She remembered when it had happened, how for months afterwards - well after the school year had ended - she'd lain awake at night, going over it in her head, beating herself up for it. Her first real friend, and she'd driven Nicola away, thoroughly and decisively.

"It sounded like, based on what you said, even if you'd not said anything Nicola had basically decided she didn't want you to be her friend anymore."

Beth closed her eyes, and made herself admit that it was true. It hadn't been what she'd said during their fight; it had been everything, and it was inevitable that Nicola would leave her once she got sick of her. She realized that she'd known this for years, but it still hurt to have it pointed out. "Yeah. So I couldn't have held onto that friendship even if I'd _tried_. I mean, tried harder." That made it worse, somehow. There was pushing someone away by saying something cruel and foolish, and then there was pushing someone away without doing anything but being yourself, and... yeah, that was definitely worse. "I mean, she... She didn't even... I would have done _anything_ to stay with her," Beth said finally, and it wasn't until the words tumbled out of her that she realized how fresh the hurt still felt just then. She felt almost ready to cry. "She didn't give me a chance!"

"No, she didn't. And I know it hurt you a lot." Dr. Mortimer spoke softly, and warmly; Beth found herself relaxing automatically, and with the relaxation, tears began to slide gently down her cheeks. "Beth, nothing will change what happened. But it happened a long time ago. You were a child then, and it's time to stop looking at that hurt the way you did back then. Now you have to see it as an adult.

"From what you've told me, Nicola was a very unhappy child who came from an unhappy home. She needed love, which you provided, but she also needed an escape from herself and her home life. I'm sorry that she took a lot out on you. I'm sure she was a good friend some of the time, as well. You were a good person to offer her the support and affection that you did, and it's sad that Nicola was not able to accept it at that time. But it's not your fault that she couldn't, and it's not your fault that she was able to goad you into lashing out at her. It's time to let go of that guilt, Beth."

Beth sniffled, and wiped her eyes. The idea that she hadn't been the one to drive Nicola away had simply... never occured to her. It had been with her for so long, and she'd accepted it so completely... She'd really never even thought of the emotion as guilt before. It was just unhappiness, a black lump of feeling that sat on her chest sometimes at night and made her wonder _why?_

Maybe Dr. Mortimer was right.

She didn't feel ready to accept that answer yet, though. She sighed and shrugged.

"Do you feel ready to put this demon to rest, Beth?"

There was more than just Nicola to consider - the way the teachers made her feel, the way the other kids behaved... But... Didn't the teachers and other kids treat her as they did because of Nicola? If things hadn't gone the way they had in that friendship, couldn't she maybe have figured out how to make _more_ friends, join more groups, make her life something entirely different?

Or maybe she was kidding herself. Changing a personality wasn't that easy; it wasn't just a matter of trying on coats. More likely she'd have been stuck the same as she always was, considered weird or invisible at best by everyone else.

She'd really never know now, would she?

Beth shook her head. "It doesn't just boil down to one event, as the linchpin of everything," she said. "It's not like that. I can't just identify one factor and banish it and feel better about everything," she said firmly.

"Of course not. And I'm glad you realize that." Dr. Mortimer smiled. He went on, "But in your recollections of your school, Nicola featured prominently. You may never feel positively about your time at that school, Beth, but you shouldn't condemn yourself for one thing that happened, something that is about more than just you."

She didn't reply, but looked at her hands. Forgiveness... It didn't seem like something she deserved, right now.

"Next time you think about Professor Pinfeather's, see how much time you spend thinking about Nicola. When you do think of her, tell yourself that no experience between two people is ever only about just one of them. Nicola played her part, as well. Then try to spend some time thinking about good feelings you have towards that school; you were there for quite some time, and I can't believe there were no good memories at all."

"Well..." Beth smiled quietly to herself. There had been a few good moments, here and there. "I'll try."

"That's great." He checked the clock. "We're running a little late. For Tuesday's meeting, how do you feel about discussing that 'Family' regret you wrote down?"

Beth wilted, and kicked herself for writing something so personal. Little tiffs with her family were nothing major, after all. She stammered, "Oh, um - you know, when I wrote that, I was just sort of grasping at straws... My family isn't so bad."

"Well, then we can talk about whatever you-"

The door flew open then, and Candy came into view, looking flushed and haughty and beautiful. Behind her, Dr. Mortimer's receptionist was waving her hand and saying "You really can't go in there right now!" in an urgent, but far too quiet, voice.

Candy took two steps towards Beth and stopped, then crossed her arms. "Come ON! If your butt isn't in that car in the next five minutes I am gonna pluck your fanny feathers!"

"Oh lord," Beth said quietly into her hands.

"I _mean_ it Bessie, if I'm late for my yoga class I'm _not_ going to be hap-py!" She did a one-eighty then, turning and flashing a smile to Dr. Mortimer before retreating back to the waiting room. She pulled the door closed gently behind her.

Beth looked up from her hands, her jaw set. "On second thought, I may have a few things to say about my family on Tuesday."


	7. Act III, part 1

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

**Act III, part I**

With her next appointment three days away, Beth had an aimless weekend. Although her mother encouraged her to interact with her family members, there was very little for her to _do_ with them. Suggestions from Irene to "help out in the kitchen" were never followed up on because there was next to nothing in the kitchen that Beth was good at doing, and although her mother made cooking look effortless, she seemed to have no interest at all in teaching any of her tricks to Beth.

Sunday dinner promised to be uncomfortable, and around 4 pm Beth began feigning the symptoms of a cold so that she could go hide in her room for the rest of the evening.

Irene would have none of it. "Don't even start, pet," she chided, almost carelessly. "Yer brother's comin' tonight, an' I want all my children at the table together."

"It's not a holiday dinner, Mom," Beth said, knowing it was useless.

Candy was sitting at the table, flipping through a magazine. Her hair had just been braided by their mother; she had slung the plait over her shoulder and looked casually lovely. Without looking up, she said, "Beef comes over all the time anyway. I don't know why he bothered to move out and pay rent on another place if he's gonna spend most of his time here."

"So I'll take that to mean that you still have no plans to move out, huh?" Beth asked. Candy's makeup was perfect; you couldn't tell she was wearing any, and Candy was the only person Beth knew who could make that fashion trend make sense.

Candy shrugged. "I can't afford my own place until my career takes off."

"What career?"

With a slight glare, Candy said evenly, "My _modeling_ career. I'm still getting my pictures out there."

"Candy," said Beth, leaning forward across the table, "you're nearly thirty. Most models retire by this time."

"MO-OM!" Candy yelled, sitting up straight.

"All I'm saying is -"

Irene stepped between them smoothly. "Girls, don't fight. We love havin' Beef over any time he can make it." She spoke as if that had been the sole point of debate. Beth and Candy shared a quick "huh?" look, and then Candy went back to her magazine.

Beth stood up. "I really think I should take a nap."

"Ye've been sleepin' enough. If ye can't help out in the kitchen, go sit with yer brother an' sister. They miss ye, y'know."

She didn't feel like pointing out that she hadn't been asked to do anything "in the kitchen"; instead she just shrugged, stood, and walked out of the room. Kicked out again, she mused; nobody anywhere seemed to want her to stay long. She couldn't help but notice that Candy was more than welcome to sit like a lump at the kitchen table and read her magazine.

She was in a prize mood, she acknowledged. In the living room, her younger brother was sprawled across an armchair, midway through a rather thick novel.

"Whatcha reading?" she asked, settling herself down on the couch.

Without looking up from his book - much like their older sister, Beth thought - Eddie answered, "I'm reading Dostoevsky this year."

"Oh yeah? Which one?"

"All of him. As much as I can, anyway." With an effort, Eddie pulled himself away from the pages. "I thought I'd be done before school started, but I didn't make it."

"Huh." Beth had never been taken with Dostoevsky, but Eddie was a literature nut. As his frequent babysitter when he'd been a baby, she'd developed a larger-than-average amount of affection for her younger brother; that had deepened when she'd learned, via her mother, that Eddie had tested highly in his aptitude tests and was going into the gifted classes. She'd been ready to fight to keep him from being shipped off somewhere, but apparently her parents had learned their lesson: the subject had never even been broached. Instead, Eddie had been pushed up a grade and spent some time with a tutor at a nearby "learning institute" after school. He mostly attended classes at the public middle school, though.

While her strengths had always been in math and science, Eddie had a strong creative/linguistic bent with an added eye for problem-solving. Every year at Christmas, he gave her a reading list, and she spent the rest of the year doing her best to follow it so that they could catch up over the holidays when she came to visit.

This probably meant she could expect some Dostoevsky to pop up on this year's list, which left her a little cold; "Crime and Punishment" hadn't struck any chords inside her when she'd tried it. "I hope you've got a good translation there, anyway," she said, as his eyes fell back onto the novel. "I always get stuck with the really dry ones, and that can suck all the fun out of it."

"Suck all the fun of out 'The Brothers Karamazov'?" Eddie said, raising his eyes to hers. Although his expression didn't change, he was definitely laughing at her on the inside.

"Okay, you know what I mean," she said, grinning.

"Yeah. Well, I'm just reading it in Russian so I don't have to worry about that."

Beth blinked. "Get outta here! You don't speak Russian!"

"I read it," he said evenly. "I started it a couple of years ago as an elective, along with French and Portugese."

"No way!" She sat forward, impressed. "Which do you like best?"

"Portugese is kind of cool. Russian is best though." He put his book down over his chest, and gave her his full attention for the first time since she'd entered the room. "If you could learn any language you wanted, what would your first choice be?"

"Oh. Um..." She had to think; she'd never actually considered this. "Probably Latin."

Eddie snorted. "That's a dead tongue!"

"Hey! It's the root of every Western language! Nothing beats Latin!"

"Oh wow. I just walked into Geekfest 1993," said Candy from where she stood in the doorway. Both her siblings turned to look at her, Beth with irritation, Eddie with some indifference. "Egghead, Mom wants you to get Kit and set the table."

"I can't believe you still call him Egghead," Beth sniped. "His name is _Eddie._"

"Edgar, actually," said her younger brother. His eyes were back on his book. His tone didn't indicate that he particularly cared, but was just evenly factual.

"Bessie, not everyone hates nicknames," Candy said with a sigh, and disappeared.

Beth ground her teeth together. "Not everyone thinks they're funny, either," she answered, knowing her sister was out of earshot. She turned back to Eddie, and frowned. "Do you prefer Edgar now?"

"Yeah, pretty much. It reminds me of Poe."

"Why didn't you say anything? I've been calling you Eddie since I got here!" She felt irrationally guilty over something she hadn't even known about, and tried to stifle it.

Edgar shrugged, putting his book aside and rising to his feet. "It's just a name, Beth. It's not really that important. You all can call me whatever you want."

She watched him walk away; even though Eddie - or Edgar - was always friendly and laid back, he always seemed so serious. "Dour" was the term her mother would use, in her "voice of honesty" moments that she claimed were driven by love; Edgar rarely smiled and sometimes you had to pay close attention to realize if he was joking. But he didn't seem unhappy to Beth... He just kept his feelings to himself. She envied him that, actually. Beth had worn her emotions on her sleeve since she was an infant, and she doubted she'd ever be able to change that.

* * *

The meal went approximately as expected. Beef arrived, sat himself in the living room and watched sports until dinner was ready. What little conversation there was around the dinner table was perfunctory; Beef was not a big talker, but he was a big eater. Irene made efforts to keep conversation going, and Beef seemed capable of thwarting her efforts without trying.

"Beth, did ye know yer brother is managin' _two_ sports teams now?" Irene asked. She made it sound like he was working for a national league, which got under Beth's skin.

"Wow," she said slowly, taking a break from pushing her dinner around on her plate to make it look like she'd been eating it. "Are they both little league now, or still just the one?"

Her mother frowned, and Beth felt guilty; Beef, despite his size and lack of attention span, was pretty much harmless and could even be sweet. Her older brother missed the implication, however, and just nodded. "Yep, both kids' teams," he said through a mouthful of peas.

"Chew first, then speak, dumplin'," Irene reminded him fondly. Beef nodded and lowered his head towards his plate, looking remarkably ready to begin eating directly off the platter.

By way of apology, Beth decided to try and feign an interest in Beef's latest career accomplishments. "So, is... um... is it a promotion?"

Beef blinked, and stared at her in apparent surprise. After a moment, he said, "Don't get paid for it." At the other end of the table, Candy gave a little snort of laughter.

"Oh." Beth cleared her throat. "I thought this was your job."

"Nah," said Beef.

Irene stepped in. "Beef is still workin' at the factory, pet. He coaches on weekends, as a hobby."

"Volunteer," Beef added, and smiled. "Helps out the kids."

"Oh." There didn't seem to be anything more to say, so Beth stirred her mashed potatoes with her finger until they thinned out a little. Still at the factory... Beef had been working at the box factory since he was in high school. She supposed she could ask if he had at least been promoted there, but she was afraid of what the answer would be. Instead she took a cue from her older brother and responded to the remaining conversational prompts with grunts and one-syllable responses, and killed time until they were allowed to leave the table. By that time, she'd decided that she was ready to try calling home.

She waited for just about fifteen minutes once dinner was done before she took the phone. At first it was a matter of privacy, but after time went by and she admitted to herself that she was starting to think it would be okay to wait until the next day to call, Beth decided it was an excuse and she would have none of it.

So she took the phone off of the end-table in the living room while everyone was watching TV, and she wandered about with it for a few minutes in search of a private place to call from. In the end she toted the phone into the hall closet, folded herself in among the winter coats and the vacuum cleaner, and tried to make herself dial.

It felt like there were little bands of iron around her lungs. Sympathetically, she allowed herself to take it slowly, but there would be no backing out this time. She could stare at the phone all she liked but eventually she was going to pick up that receiver and start pressing the buttons. Soon. Very soon now.

She took a deep breath and put her hand on the receiver, telling herself that it was evening, Launchpad and Drake would probably _both_ be out at the Tower, and she'd probably end up just leaving another message with Gosalyn. Well, that being the case, maybe she _should_ call tomorrow so that -

_No._ Have some backbone, Beth. If she had to leave a message with Gosalyn tonight, then that message would be "I will call again tomorrow", and either way this call was being made _now_.

She pushed the closet door open a crack so that she could see the numbers to push, then tugged it closed again. Somehow the darkness in the closet seemed simultaneously safer - as though she were hiding - and far scarier, as if something unexpected was going to answer and get her through the phone lines.

When the line picked up, she clenched the receiver in both hands, willing herself not to hang up. Her breath caught in the second before whoever had answered spoke. "Hello?"

It was Drake. As before, her vocal cords went cold and thick, and she couldn't say a word.

He gave a long, irritated sigh. "Is anyone _there_?"

And somehow she found the strength to speak - maybe the darkness in the closet made her feel anonymous. In any case, she cleared her throat and said in a low voice, "Er, yes, um, Launchpad please?"

Pause. Then Drake said, "Hold on." She had enough time to wonder if Drake had recognized her voice, and ponder whether or not she wanted to know what he thought of it if he had, before Launchpad answered.

He sounded okay. Normal, anyway. She was encouraged by that, so she cleared her throat and said, "Um, hey. Hi. It's... It's Beth."

"Oh! Hey!" These two words - nearly not words at all - were of the kind that could easily convey total disinterest. Launchpad managed to make them do just the opposite, and they came out full of surprise and hopefulness and awkwardness and about fifty other things.

"Hey." She went blank, and realized she'd never actually planned what she was going to say. It occurred to her that she'd expected him to say something more, maybe direct the conversation a little bit, and she still hoped that he might. But the silence on the other end of the line dragged on, and she knew she was out of hope. "Well! So, how are... things?"

"Uh, gee, fine I guess." He sounded so positive, but on closer inspection, a little forced. Then again, Beth thought, she probably sounded much the same. She waited to see if he'd say anything else.

Launchpad's heart was thumping. There were all these long pauses on her end of the phone, and he wasn't sure what they meant, but he hoped it wasn't bad. He was trying to feel out the situation before he said much of anything, but Beth herself was saying so little that he was having trouble. He just hoped she wasn't getting more upset by it. That would just figure: more than a week of waiting for her to call, and when she finally does he doesn't speak so she cuts herself off even further.

He realized, finally, that he should probably reciprocate her question. "How 'bout you? How's life at your parents' house?"

"Oh, don't ask," she answered quickly, with a brief little laugh. He was surprised by how quickly, and naturally, she'd answered. That was a good sign, right?

So he stuck with the topic of her family. "Bad, huh?"

"Just the usual." Launchpad didn't know what that meant, exactly, but he didn't think it was the time to ask. Beth added, "You know, just... family." There was a long sigh, and then the silence was back.

Feeling out the situation or not, Launchpad wasn't going to let this just be a meaningless back-and-forth. He took a deep breath and jumped right in. "So... why're you callin'?"

Long pause.

NOT a good sign. He was trying to think of a way to neatly back out of the question, when she answered. "Well, I promised that I would, and... I don't know really. Except that I promised."

"Oh yeah... I guess you did." That hadn't come out right, either. He could tell things weren't going well, because the phone receiver was starting to feel a little slippery in his hand. "I mean, uh, I kinda forgot." That sounded even worse.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. She sounded persecuted and guilty. "I really meant to, every day and I know it took a while but things have, they've been really hard and I just-"

"Whoa. Hey. Slow down." He was an idiot. Now she was about to cry. "Just, just take a deep breath, okay? I didn't mean that! Honest!"

She sniffled, right into the phone, and for some reason it struck him as funny. She probably had no idea how loud that had been. "I guess you're probably pretty mad at me."

"What? No way!" He wasn't even sure how to convey how far off-base that was, so he didn't try. "Are you mad at me?"

Relief was thick in her voice as she said, "No! Not at all! Why would I be mad at you?"

He relaxed a little, too. "Well, for - for makin' you feel bad, and..." _Stuff._

"No, gosh no! Honestly, I thought you'd be mad at me, I'm the one who just up and disappeared and didn't call..."

Now they were getting back into the pointless back-and-forth, and he didn't want to get too caught up in that. "Look, let's just not worry about it, okay? I'm not mad, and you're not mad, and that's what's important. I was just, y'know... worried about you."

Another sniffle - this one much quieter. "Okay." She definitely sounded relieved now. He let out a deep breath. "Well, um... How... how are you?"

It was almost a question she'd already asked, but he had a feeling she meant it differently this time. "Okay. I mean, I'm feelin' better now that you've called."

"Oh. Heh." He was paying closer attention to every little detail of her voice than he ever had before; now she'd gone quiet and tight. Geez, was there ANY right thing to say? She spoke again: "Did you mean that... like, well..."

"I meant it in a _good_ way," he said, frustrated. His head was starting to hurt.

"Well-" He could almost hear her struggling with her words, trying very hard _not_ to say certain things. "I mean, did you mean... Um..."

"Beth, I mean that I _miss_ you." He almost - _almost_ - snapped at her. He had no problem being patient, and he knew that Beth was going through a hard time, but it was almost like she was deliberately picking him apart, now. "I miss you bein' here."

"Okay." Her voice was even tighter. "Um - do you... are you still..."

He was momentarily stung by the fact that she hadn't even acknowledged his statement; that hurt. As such, it took him a moment to realize what she was trying to ask without asking it: she wanted to know if he still had feelings for her. "Well, yeah," he said, surprised.

"Oh." Now she sounded tiny.

"Didja think I'd stop?"

There was no answer; he realized she hadn't been _worried_ that he'd stop, she'd been _hoping_ he would.

THAT really hurt.

In a low voice, he said, "Well, it doesn't work that way."

"I'm sorry," she answered.

That made it even worse, somehow. With an ache in his chest, he said, "Wouldja feel better if - we just didn't talk for a while?"

She gasped slightly, surprising him. "No! I want to talk to you! I just... I..." After a sigh, she said desperately, "Can we just not talk about - about _that_?"

Launchpad bit the inside of his lip. "At some point we're gonna have to talk about it. I mean, otherwise..."

She finished the thought for him. "Otherwise, we might end up not being able to stay friends."

"Yeah."

Beth huddled in the closet, surrounded in the dark, and felt more alone than she could remember feeling. It dawned on her then how much she wanted to tell Launchpad, all of a sudden - and how little she had told him. And how unfair it would be to dump all her problems onto him now. She wished things were different; she wished she were sitting with him right now and she could talk about Drake and about all the other things in her life, and then she wouldn't need a therapist at all and she could just let it all out. Launchpad was the only person in the world who would probably _never_ judge her for anything, and she was driving him away. Like everyone else, and without even trying to.

"Okay," she said, her heart thumping. "We'll - we'll talk about it. But... not now, okay? Not yet, because I... I have to figure some things out first." She'd already said this, she knew; before she'd left she'd promised they'd talk about it "later" and this was almost identical. "I really really mean it, I won't weasel out of this, just..." She would have to talk to Dr. Mortimer about it. It was the only way: she'd have to tell him the problem and let him tell her what to do about it, so that when she spoke to Launchpad about it she could be reasonably confident with a solution. "Just, I..."

"It's okay." His voice was much gentler than before; she hadn't realized how much tension had been in his tone a moment ago, until now that it was gone. "No rush. I'm not goin' anywhere."

She laughed nervously. "Yeah, I'm the one who runs for it when things get hard."

Launchpad laughed a little in response, and Beth relaxed again. She just had to keep things light between them for as long as she could; she could lose any other friend, but not Launchpad. She wouldn't let him be taken away.

"Well, I... I should probably get going." She spoke softly; there was an intimacy, suddenly, that she didn't quite want to break.

"Already? You don't wanna hear what's been goin' on around here?"

She grasped at the opportunity to keep the conversation going on a positive note. "Oh - well - okay, what's been going on?"

"Uh... not much," Launchpad admitted. "Gos is back in school, an' DW ran into Megavolt the other day, but it was in a grocery store so nothin' much happened."

"Huh. Gosh. What was Megavolt doing in a grocery store?"

"Shopping, is what DW said. He was real put out about it, too."

"Huh," Beth said again. She fought the urge to ask about Drake; it wasn't fair to Launchpad and it might bring up another sore point... But how else was she supposed to _know_ anything? Hesitantly, she began, "And... How's Drake?"

"He's doin' pretty good," Launchpad answered. He didn't sound surprised, or bothered by the direction she was taking.

Beth blew out a long breath, and said, "I know I shouldn't ask you this, but... um... Has he mentioned... me?"

"Well," he said, and now he sounded a bit surprised, like he hadn't expected her to care about something like _that_, "yeah! A couple of times, actually!"

"Oh." She felt an odd mix of emotions: satisfaction, relief, loss, and terror, all at once. "Good to know."

"Did ya wanna know what he said?" Launchpad asked.

She thought about it; it was tempting. But then she shook her head, and to Launchpad she said, "No. That's okay." That was over now. With that decision, she felt a little more together - a little more unified than she had a moment before. It still hurt... A lot. Nothing was going to change that. And there was no use pretending that anything, like finding out what was being said behind her back, would ever make a difference. She had to start letting go of that stuff. "Well, now I really should go."

Launchpad, leaning against the kitchen wall, still didn't want to let her off the phone. But this conversation had been so up-and-down that any more would probably follow that pattern, and he couldn't take that tonight. He nodded. "Yeah, me too, I guess."

"Okay, well... It was really... really good to talk to you," she said. The soft breathiness of her voice was incredibly attractive. He was sure she had no idea how lovely she sounded, or how much her speaking made him miss her. He wanted very, very badly to take her in his arms and just hold her for the rest of the night.

"Yeah," he returned inadequately. Everything he could think of to say - everything he wanted to say - was in the vein of the things she'd asked him not to mention. Finally he hit on something reasonably harmless. "Call again soon. An' come home soon too, okay?"

"Okay," she answered. He took it as a promise.

"Alright... Talk to ya then, I guess."

"Launchpad?"

"Yeah?"

She paused, then said, "I miss you too."

He grinned. "Okay."

There was a sudden squawk from the other end of the line, and he had to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment as a commotion passed through the receiver. When it had died down, a voice that sounded almost exactly like Beth's said, "Good GOD, what are you doing in the closet?! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Beth - he was pretty sure it was Beth, since it sounded like her and she was closer to the phone - said irately, "CANDY! What is WRONG with you?!"

"What's wrong with _me_? I'm not the one sitting in the dark in the closet!" The second voice laughed. With the laugh, Launchpad heard the differences in the voice: more self-confidence, a slightly lower tone. A sister? That was right, Beth had a couple of sisters, didn't she?

"There's no other place to get privacy in this house," Beth snapped back.

The sister laughed again, more fully this time. "You're sitting in the dark, in the closet, talking on the phone. Soooo what's his name? Is this the one you've been --" The rest of the sentence was muffled beyond comprehension, as Beth apparently had clutched the receiver to herself and was moving around. There was some yelling; Launchpad couldn't tell who was doing it or what was being said. Finally the line went dead.

He blinked, and hung up. That was, by far, the most interesting conversation he'd ever had with Beth.


	8. Act III, part 2

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

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**Act III, part II**

_A/N: Finally we return to this fic! Sorry for the delay but I wanted to get through Act 2 of TWC1 before I devoted my time to this fic. I hoped it would give me a little time to think on it, too, work it out in my head a bit. I hope that the rest of this act will go fairly quickly! I already had the first half or so written (maybe the first third) but much of the second half came all in one night, which is nifty, and maybe I'll manage to keep that pace when I actually manage to do some writing! Let's hope. :) Anyway... A big thanks to those who have been reading this, and even more to those who have been reviewing! As with the promise I made in TWC1, I will do my best from here on out to reply to any reviews I get to this fic... if that kind of thing matters to you guys, anyway. ;) I just want to show how much I appreciate you guys leaving your thoughts. Hokay, loooong intro, needlessly so! And this is a long chapter, perhaps also needlessly so... Hope those of you still following the story find it engaging and so forth! More soon, I swear I don't intend to have another 2+ months go by before the next update..._

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Monday was not an easy day. The plan had been to get the computer set up and finally get some work done, but when she woke up she found that getting out of bed seemed daunting. She felt crushed by loneliness, and only when she wrapped herself tightly in her bedsheets and curled up into a ball did she start to feel a little bit better. When she left her bed for a few moments to get a drink of water, she felt overwhelmed by space, like she was isolated not only from the rest of the world but also from herself. She went back to bed and didn't get up until nearly 2 pm.

Even then it was a struggle. By the end of the afternoon, she did have her computer set up, but just the thought of turning it on exhausted and depressed her. Despite the loneliness she still felt, the thought of spending time with her family made her skin crawl. She drew a bath instead, and lay in the tub until the water went cold.

All she could think about was Drake, how much she missed him and how little that meant anymore. If she could see him or be with him, she would only feel worse; she dreaded the idea of going home, of having him so close physically without any hope of ever getting any closer _personally_. Launchpad was forgotten today - she should be thinking about him, she knew, and about how she could come to terms with their situation, but she couldn't do it. There was no room in her head, and no energy in her being - not with the way she felt.

Love was awful. AWFUL. She didn't even feel like she'd loved Drake anymore, she just felt like all the sun had been sucked out of her soul and the idea that there could have been something in her, at one point, that drew pleasure out of being so dependent on him was laughable. How had this ever been good? This was the true face of love, a horrible, hungry monster that ate you alive, from the inside out. It fooled you into thinking you were happy and secure, and then by the time you noticed you were losing everything that made you yourself, it was too late to care and too late to change it.

Her vow from a couple of weeks earlier, to never fall in love again, was moot; she didn't think she was even capable of it at this point. Her ability to love had died and she was glad.

She was surprised by how easily she fell asleep that night after having spent more than half of her day in bed.

Tuesday wasn't quite as bad; she was just numb, from the moment she woke up. Her body felt heavy, but her heart didn't ache so much. So she sat down and from 6:30 in the morning until about three in the afternoon she caught up on work. There was a ton to catch up on: she hadn't noticed how long she'd been putting it off, but she was going to have to either really hustle to catch up on her project timeline or else she was going to have to call in to work and coordinate something with her sick leave. The idea of using sick leave over something as stupid as being dumped - and even _that_ was inaccurate - was so ridiculous that she doubled her resolve and set up a work schedule for the rest of the week that involved double-shifts most days.

The work was nice, because it kept her from thinking. When she took a quick break for lunch around noon, she caught herself wondering how Launchpad was feeling that day, and the next thing she knew she was wondering if he had days like she'd had the day before and then her stomach was knotting up with guilt, and she had to dump her sandwich in the trash half-eaten.

Then it was back to work, and before she knew it, her father was tapping on the door to her room. "Your ride is leaving, honey!" he said. It was funny how when he said something like that, it was affectionate and cute, but when Candy said it Beth's teeth immediately went on edge. Of course there was never anything about Candy that seemed affectionate when it came to Beth, so that was very likely the reason.

Bug was a careful driver, which Beth had always liked, and on the drive to Dr. Mortimer's office she felt a closeness with her father that she realized had been neglected for years. It didn't hurt any that the first thing he said once they'd set off was, "I know the circumstances aren't great, honey, but it sure is nice having you home again."

She had to smile a little bit. "Thanks, Dad."

"I sure hope you feel better soon. And that you don't feel like you need to hide away in your room so much."

"Yeah." She clasped her hands, and sighed. "Me, too." It occurred to her that she might not need to talk to Dr. Mortimer about Drake, or Launchpad; she didn't want her family to know about them, but somehow with her father it didn't seem like such a breach of her privacy. She realized that she didn't mind her father knowing. "Dad? Can I... can I ask you for advice on something?"

"Of course, sweetie!" he said immediately, and he smiled, though he didn't take his eyes off the road. Good old cautious Dad.

"Well..." She still wasn't sure how to start, and she'd been trying to think all day of how to bring up the topic at her appointment. Instead she said, "First of all, it's important that you don't tell Mom or anyone else, okay? This is just between us."

"If that's what you want, then I promise."

"Okay." With a deep breath, she started. It seemed easier to talk about Drake first, maybe get that out in the open a little. "There's, well, I guess there _was_ this guy - my neighbour - oh, well, he's actually _still_ my neighbour so we'll just say 'is'. Um, so! My neighbour, Drake, he... I kind of..." This felt really hard, much harder than she'd thought it would. She looked up at her father for encouragement, but his eyes were still on the road. She followed his gaze, taking in the yellow stripes in the center of the road, and said softly, "I kind of fell for him, I guess. But he didn't feel the same, and... and he told me so. And I really want to put it behind me but I - I don't know how." She waited; her father didn't say anything, and then she realized she hadn't asked a question, so he had nothing to answer. She tried to think of a way to phrase it in a question format. "Did - did you ever love anyone other than Mom? Did you ever have your heart broken, and... if you did, how did you get over it?"

Bug frowned for a moment, looking a little sad, and then he said sympathetically, "You know, honey, I think this is something you should ask your mother about. This sounds more like her territory than mine."

Beth paused, finding suddenly that she was having to blink back tears, and then nodded. "Oh. Okay. Um - you did promise that you wouldn't tell her though... right?"

"I did promise that. And I'll keep that promise," he assured her. Always warm and reassuring, her father was. And always, so far away.

She sat in the waiting room, tying her stomach in knots over the idea of bringing up her situation with Launchpad. She didn't want to; she didn't want to think about it at all, let alone mention it out loud, but she had to and she'd promised that she would, and... She wished she could go back to feeling numb, as she'd managed for the rest of the day. She also wasn't clear on what she would say, or how she would bring Drake into it, or if she should bring him in at all. It occurred to her that if she told someone how she'd been feeling over Drake and what he'd said, it would sound like she was the biggest overreacting baby in the world. Which, she acknowledged, she probably was.

When she rose to go into Dr. Mortimer's office, she turned back to her father. "You don't have to stay. I don't mind walking home, it's only a couple of miles."

Her father looked surprised, and just a little dismayed. "Well, I'd hoped we could go to the bookstore afterwards. I wanted to buy you something."

She couldn't help but smile. "Okay. Then I'll see you in an hour, I guess."

He gave her a thumbs-up before picking up a magazine and busying himself in it. The smile slid off her face; just one more reminder of Launchpad.

As she walked into Dr. Mortimer's office she was certain she was going to throw up. Her stomach was full of butterflies. She sat down, her mouth dry, and nodded in response when the doctor greeted her.

"How was your weekend?"

Her first efforts to reply came to nothing. She had to make a big show of clearing her throat, and finally she pushed out, "Good. Saw my brother. It was nice." That was probably the most effective lie she'd ever told. And that had been the perfect segue into what she was supposed to talk about, too... She decided to wait for another opportunity to come up.

"So, Beth, what did you want to talk about today?" Dr. Mortimer asked her.

And there it was. She'd hoped for a little longer to work herself up to it, but it didn't look like she was going to get it. "Well... There is something I wanted to ask you about."

"Certainly."

She swallowed; was she really going to do this? If so, _how_? She had _no_ idea how to even broach the topic! At a complete loss, she stalled instead, and backtracked a few days to something Dr. Mortimer had said at her last appointment. "On Friday... I said that I used to think that if you were nice to people, then they'd be nice to you, but that that's not how it works. And you said that it was, and I just wondered, do... do you really think that?"

Dr. Mortimer pursed his lips in thought. "Well, that's a good question. Hmmm... I guess the answer would be, yes and no. Human kindness is a wonderful thing to offer people, and it can be infectious, but it shouldn't be done at the exclusion of your own health."

Beth felt lost. "I'm sorry, I... I don't get it."

"Well, there are levels to everything. For instance, you were telling me that you spent much of your early childhood doing homework for your schoolmates, because you hoped that if you did that then they would be your friend, right?" She nodded, and he continued. "Now, would I then advise you to go back to doing that: doing work for other people while they sit and relax, in the hopes that they would return the kindness later? No, certainly not. That's not making friends through kindness, that's being taken advantage of, as I'm sure you understand now."

"Well, of course I do _now_," Beth began. Dr. Mortimer nodded, and she fell silent, willing to let him finish.

"Of course, as an adult, you can see the things that slipped by as a child. But if you look at the way you phrased it - 'if I'm nice to people, they'll be nice to me' - _that_ philosophy is quite lovely, and not at all what we're talking about. Pure, simple acts of kindness are beautiful and can be contagious. You simply have to keep sight of yourself in the midst of it, and make sure that you're not being nice at your own expense.

"The harsh reality is that there are a lot of people out there who will take advantage of someone who offers a kindness. A majority of them will, in fact, and it's not even out of maliciousness; it's just human nature to take what you're offered, if no price is apparent, and consider it free. Worse, though, is that some people _are_ malicious, and will knowingly take as much as they can from someone who is offering kindness free of charge. So you have to be careful; you have to know when to say no, recognize when something you're being asked is unreasonable, and remember that you don't _owe_ anyone these favours. You're _giving_ them, and you have every right to refuse if someone asks you to do something they could, and should, be doing for themselves. Do you see what I mean?"

Beth thought of her months in school before Professor Pinny's, and of helping Nicola with her work, and of the time she'd spent in college and her coworkers at the Duckburg library; she thought of Henny Chickstein at Bindler's Hardware, and even somewhat of Drake and Gosalyn, and she sighed. There was a definite lifetime pattern that was readily apparent. "I do," she said, feeling dispirited.

"You look upset."

She straightened up, and tried to look - and feel - better. "Well, it's just... I don't know, based on what you're saying it sounds like I've been a sucker all my life."

He laughed. "Not a sucker! Just a very well-meaning young woman who doesn't know how to say 'no'. It's not at all uncommon, Beth, and you shouldn't be ashamed of anything. Just remember that you don't owe anyone anything in exchange for their friendship. If you're doing someone a favour because you want to, fine, do it; if you're doing it because they've asked you to, and you'd rather not, re-evaluate your situation. If you need help with this it's okay to ask, it's something we can focus on in our sessions as much as you want. Do you feel like you'd like that?"

They'd strayed very far from the topic she'd intended to bring up, and she felt guilty and rushed. "Well - maybe, but - I mean... not yet. I mean, I might not have any friends to say no to, so..." Dr. Mortimer raised an eyebrow and seemed about to ask a question, and she panicked. "We were going to talk about my - my family today, right?" she asked loudly.

So much for Launchpad. She _would_ ask about him, but she wasn't ready yet today. Dr. Mortimer closed his mouth, and nodded. "Indeed we were. Fire away."

"Oh. I didn't think we'd just... jump right in like this."

He spread his hands. "You're the one calling the shots. Was there anything you had in mind that you wanted to talk about?"

"Not really..." Beth looked at her own hands. Her feelings about her family were so often conflicted that she felt tremendously guilty even as she thought that a little venting might help her. She looked up at the doctor. "What kinds of things do people usually talk about when it comes to their families?"

Dr. Mortimer chuckled, and Beth realized what she had sounded like. "Beth," he said, "you know we're not talking about other people here, right?"

"I know." She put her hand over her eyes, grinning in spite of herself. "That just sort of came out. What I mean is... I really don't know where to start, and..."

"Okay. How about this: you listed your family as your second big regret in your life." Beth felt another stab of guilt; put that way it sounded awful. "What are your big regrets in that area?"

She blew out a breath, crossing her hands over her knees, and thought. "I... I don't know, really." A regret was something you looked back on as a mistake, right? Something you wished you could change... She couldn't think of her situation with her family in that way. But when she'd been thinking of regrets for her list, they had come right up. "I just kind of... wrote it."

"All right, then let's try starting out another way. Why don't you just tell me about your relationships with your family members. How do you get along with them? Do you feel like you get along well?"

"It depends on which family member we're talking about, I guess. And - what the circumstance is." She sat up a little straighter. "Like Eddie - Edgar, I mean. My younger brother? He's only eleven but he's _super_ smart, and we've always gotten along pretty well even though he was only three when I moved out. I did a lot of the babysitting when he was really little and I used to tell everyone that he was just going to be _brilliant_, and I was right!"

"Do you feel like you and Edgar have a good connection?"

Beth considered this. "Well... Mostly, yes. I mean we don't really talk about anything personal... Like I said, he's only eleven. But it's nice to have someone I can talk to about the things I like - books and theories and things. And he doesn't-" She stopped short.

"Doesn't what?"

"No, forget it. I don't know what I was going to say."

Dr. Mortimer looked at her quizzically. "Are you sure?"

She blew out a quick breath, and it reached her hair and swept her bangs away from her forehead. "He doesn't judge me," she said quietly.

"That sounds like a good relationship." Dr. Mortimer's tone was even.

"I guess so." What cut away from it, she felt, was the fact that she never _missed_ Edgar. She liked him a lot; she loved him too, of course, just as she loved all her family members. It was almost genetically programmed for her to love them, but Edgar was the only one she could say for certain she really _liked_, too. But she was content to see him only a few times a year, and she felt like keeping in better touch with him would have been a prerequisite to a better relationship. "I don't see him that often though."

"Sometimes with family, you don't have to see them all the time to have a connection."

"I know," she answered, mostly because she wanted to stop talking about it; she had nothing left to say on the subject.

"What about your sister? Are you close to her?"

"Which one?"

"Oh, I forgot that you have a younger sister now, too! Well, either one?"

Beth cocked her head a little. "Um, well, Kit - Katherine, she's the younger one - I mean, it's like I hardly know her. I moved out just before she was born, and so..." She shrugged. "I love my family, all of them. I might not see them that often but I love each of them - Edgar and Kit, even if she seems to think our sister Candy is one who hung the moon, and my older brother Bill too - we all get along fine. And I love Candy too," she added hastily. "I mean, we have a tricky - well... Candy and I don't get along that well, it's true, but it doesn't mean I don't love her."

"Of course it doesn't." Dr. Mortimer nodded. "In what ways do you and Candy not get along?"

"Oh, you know. She was the 'baby' of the family before I came along and then when I was born I started getting all the attention, and she didn't like that. It's just your standard sibling rivalry." It felt like more, actually; Beth had struggled for most of her life with a general sense that Candy was dedicated to wrecking any kind of happiness she could eke out for herself. The years since she'd moved out of her parents' house had given her the distance she needed to consider that perhaps she was just being paranoid; even now, though, it took some effort to really believe that.

"What do you think is 'standard' sibling rivalry?" Dr. Mortimer asked, surprising her.

She had to think about it. "Um... you know, just that we're always competing, I guess? Although... well, really Candy is the one who does most of that. I don't _want_ attention really, as far as I'm concerned she can have it. But it's like there's something in her that always has to be the focus of everyone's interest; she wants to be the one everyone is talking about."

"So what happened when you tested with a high IQ?"

"Well, that's just it!" Beth said emphatically; it was like he'd read her mind. "She found out I was going to be 'The Smartest' so she had to put all her energy into being 'The Prettiest' and making that be the most important. And what's really annoying about that is that Candy is really, really smart!"

"Oh?"

Beth leaned forward. "Oh yeah! But nobody seemed to notice it, or something, so she started pretending to be dumb and playing up her looks. And she puts so much effort into that, that now even _she_ forgets how smart she is! It drives me crazy! You know she's lived at home her whole life, and she works at the Yarn Barn? Do you know the kinds of things she could be _doing_ with her life? But instead she stays at home and mooches off our parents, and makes fun of me for being smart and not able to attract men, and obsesses about her looks." Beth sat back again, crossing her arms in front of her chest, and said almost conspiratorially, "You know, _she_ wears glasses too."

"I didn't know that," said Dr. Mortimer mildly. "Does she have contacts?"

"Yep. She got them right away, along with her glasses, because she said wearing glasses would 'ruin her life'. She's never worn her glasses outside the house. As if there's something the matter with them!" She rolled her eyes. "Then when I had to get glasses a year or two later my parents told me they couldn't afford contacts for me, too. Which was fine, you know. I never wanted them anyway. I bought some for myself last year but I pretty much never wear them."

"They're not for everyone," said Dr. Mortimer agreeably. "Did they bother your eyes, or do you just not care for them?"

Beth, who had spent the past few moments wondering why she was going on about contacts, now wished she hadn't mentioned that part. "I'm just used to wearing these," she said, pointing to her eyewear a little sheepishly. "I feel kind of naked when I'm not wearing them. I mean, like I said... there's nothing wrong with glasses."

"No, not at all."

They fell into what was, to Beth's ears at least, a slightly awkward silence. Then she cleared her throat. "Well. Like I said, Candy and I just have a sibling rivalry. But really I don't have any problems with my sisters and brothers." That was true, she felt; it wasn't her siblings, even Candy, that had kept her from coming home for the first three years after she'd moved out.

Dr. Mortimer probably figured that out, and his next question reflected it. "How about your relationship with your parents these days?"

"It's... it's okay," she said carefully. "There are... some things that could be better, I mean... You have to understand, none of the people in my family are very - open. We don't, um... _share_ a whole lot or anything like that. So sometimes it can be a little hard to feel close to them."

She looked towards the door to the waiting room, almost without realizing it. "I mean, for example, my father - my father is a great guy. He's never got a bad word for anyone, and he's always happy. But..." Looking back down at her lap, she said, "He just... he never seems like he's _there_. He says things that are really supportive but I never felt like I could go to him for help, because every time I asked him anything important he'd tell me to ask my mother. And - and there were times when Mom would say something, and I knew it wasn't fair, and I'd look at him and I could see that _he_ knew it wasn't fair, but - but he'd still say 'do what Mom says' in this kind of resigned way." She looked up at Dr. Mortimer. "It's just... frustrating. He's a great guy, though. He really is."

Dr. Mortimer nodded. "I can see how that would frustrate you, especially as a child."

Beth found herself growing irritated by this repetition of agreeable responses - she knew it was his job to listen and not judge, but it felt almost like judgment would have been _better_. After all, wasn't she judging her own family? And wasn't she passing a judgment on _him_, as well? She shook her head, trying to rid herself of her resentment, and of the certainty that he was hiding his true opinion of her behind a veneer of noncommittal phrases.

"You mentioned," he began, and from his tone she knew what was coming, "your mother saying things that 'weren't fair'. Did that happen a lot?"

"I don't know," she answered. He waited for a moment, perhaps for her to continue, but she didn't.

"How would you describe your relationship with your mother?" he asked then.

It felt like a trap. He was friends with her mother, or at least was friendly with her; he must have heard a million stories about what kind of daughter she'd been. Even when she'd been seeing Dr. Mortimer as a teenager he was probably getting an earful from Irene about her, and now that she was grown he would know all about her mother's side of things and nothing about Beth's. He would already have made his mind up by now and if she said anything at all, she was in for a lecture about how to be nicer to her mother.

She clammed up. "It's fine, really."

He seemed a little surprised. "Fine? Really? Well, that's-"

"I mean, we have arguments. Everyone argues with their mother. I mean, if you told me you knew someone who had never been in an argument with their mother I'd tell you they were lying, because it's just - it's just what you do," she said. The more she tried to sound convincing, the more quickly she spoke, as if she had a deadline to get him to believe what she was saying. "I-I mean, who doesn't fight with their mother a little? I bet you fought with your mother. Or father. Maybe both parents?" She stopped cold, looking at him inquisitively, then said, "You don't have to answer that. But still, my point-"

"I think I understand your point," he interrupted gently. "And that's great. I'm glad you've cleared things up with your mother."

"What does that mean?" she asked sharply. He _had_ heard things. She felt furious suddenly; he wasn't supposed to have made his mind up about her before she even came to see him. "Look, whatever my mother has been telling you, I have a side too and it's not fair-"

"Wait," Dr. Mortimer said, holding his hands up and smiling a little. "All I meant was that, when you were seeing me before, you and your mother were going through a rocky patch. You said you couldn't relate to each other. It sounds like that's improved, or at least based on what you said, it did." He put his hands down slowly. "Is there more you'd like to talk about?"

Beth looked at her own hands, clenched into fists on her lap. She forced herself to unclench them, and looked at her fingers as she extended them carefully. "My mother..." She blew out a breath of air. "My mother has never understood me. She's never known what to do with me. For years I thought I'd done something wrong, to make her stop loving me." She paused and waited for Dr. Mortimer to tell her she was wrong, but he said nothing. So she said it herself, instead: "I mean, I _know_ she loves me. She tries to show it all the time - but even then it's like, it's on her own terms. She calls me and asks me all the time to come home and visit, and I just think, 'I have my own life now.' There's no recognition of that." She stopped herself again. "I _know_ she just means well for me. I, I should be more understanding, right? Parenting is hard, and I should try to see where she's coming from."

"Maybe instead of telling yourself how you _should_ feel," Dr. Mortimer said, "you should tell your mother how you _actually_ feel."

"I do!" she said, suddenly indignant. "I tell her all the time!" She felt like she was being attacked.

"How does she react?"

Beth narrowed her eyes, feeling stung. "Why is this suddenly about my mother?"

"I'm sorry," said Dr. Mortimer, backing off again. "I thought we were talking about her."

Was that sarcasm? Now that she was getting upset, she couldn't tell how to take his comments. Everything seemed to have an accusation hidden in it, but was that true or was she just hearing it that way? "We - we were, but - I -"

"It's okay. We don't have to talk about her if you don't want to."

"Because - because I told you, my relationship with her is _fine_!" Beth said, and realized she was angry. And now that she was angry, she didn't want to stop after all. "And even if it weren't, you know, it wouldn't be _my_ fault!"

Dr. Mortimer paused for a moment, then leaned forward a little. In even tones, he said, "I didn't say that anything was your fault."

Beth did not, as a rule, get angry. She didn't think she had ever lost her temper in front of her friends, and although she had lost it multiple times with her mother and her older sister, she could count on one hand the number of blow-ups she had had outside her family. This would push it up onto the second hand, but at the moment, she wasn't worried about that in the least. "Look, I _know_ you're friends with my mother! I know what she probably says about me and I'm sure you think she's a very sweet woman with a, with an ungrateful daughter who ran off and abandoned her or something like that! Right? I'm sure you're thinking that I must be very selfish for ever thinking she didn't love me, because she's so selfless and devoted to her children, and I must be blind or needy or spoiled to not see that. But let me tell you something about my mother, okay?"

* * *

November, 1974

It was a cold morning. Beth wore a button-up sweater over her shirt, but her legs were bare beneath her knit skirt, and the wind felt like it was biting her from the ankles up.

Her eyes ached. She'd spent most of the previous night crying, rather than sleeping, and even now she was red-eyed and puffy. Her mother had clucked at her and given her a cold washcloth, telling her that the puffiness would go down if she'd just cheer up a bit. Beth had gamely tried, but breakfast was unappetizing and everything looked sad and tiny now that she was seeing it all for the final time.

"Are you excited, pumpkin?" her father asked her as they stood and waited for the bus.

She shook her head. Candy, shivering nearby in her pink flannel coat, rolled her eyes and huffed, but said nothing.

Beth's mother caught an errand strand of Beth's chin-length hair that was blowing in the wind, and did her best to pat it down. "I'll have no more o' that attitude, pet. This is the beginnin' of an adventure fer ye, an' ye'll be needin' to write us with all the great t'ings that'll happen each day!"

Beth tried to swallow the lump in her throat, and failed. More tears welled up as she looked at her shoes, which were shining in the early day's sunlight. "Okay," she said in a choked voice. Something flopped onto her shoulders, and she jumped; looking up, she found herself captive in her older brother's hugely muscled arm. He smiled down at her, but said nothing, and for a short while he kept the wind from biting quite so hard.

But then, all too soon, a blotch appeared on the horizon.

"Oh," said Irene excitedly, "I t'ink that's yer bus!"

Beth's heart thudded. She turned appealingly to her father, her eyes still wet. "I don't want to go," she whispered hoarsely.

Her father's forehead creased, and he smiled sadly. "Bethie, once you're there you'll have a great time. Lots of kids who're smart, like you! You'll have a ball!"

"Elizabeth," said her mother sharply. Beth's shoulders stiffened, and for a moment she couldn't turn. Slowly, her brother's arm slid away, and Beth had to bow to her mother's will; eventually, everyone in the Webfoot family did. She turned slowly and looked up at her mother's fierce face.

"I'll have no more o' this mopin'," her mother said, and her voice was like steel. "Th' matter is closed. Yer goin' to Perfesser Pinfeather's, an' that's that. Yer goin' ta learn a lot, an' ye'll finally make some friends an' learn to take care'a yerself. This's an opportunity most kids'd love t'have, an' yer not to cry an' moan as if it's a punishment. D'ye hear me?"

Although she was crying steadily now, Beth tried to nod. The bus was so close now, and she was so scared she could barely think. Her shoulder shook, both from the cold and from her sobs. Nearby, Candy and Bug stood and watched uncertainly, while she could feel Beef's warmth just over her own shoulder; but Irene stood, unyielding, frowning at her as the bus drove to take her away from her family.

The bus pulled up and opened its doors. Beef and her father picked up her Malibu Mitzi luggage set and took it to the driver as he made his way down the steps. Candy came by and said something reluctant and generally encouraging; Beth barely heard it, however, as her father and brother returned and hugged her. Irene hugged her last, her arms just barely embracing her daughter before sliding away like the last part of a dream.

Beth tried to be brave. She turned to face the bus, and even took a step forward. But no one tried to stop her; no one did what she had hoped they would do, no one stepped forward and cancelled the decision that she had to leave, no one pleaded her case to her mother to let her stay. Beth burst into tears. "I don't want to go! Don't make me go, please!" She turned back around and clutched at her father's legs. "Daddy, I want to stay!"

He bent and hugged her, holding her for a long second before taking her hands and pulling them away from his pants. In a rough voice, he said, "Your mom's right, pumpkin. This is the best thing for you."

She looked frantically at her mother, who was standing a few feet away, looking at something else. All Beth could see of her was her back. "Mommy, I don't want to go... Please, Mommy, don't make me go!" she said, but Irene didn't turn. "Mommy! Please let me stay here! MOMMY _PLEASE!_" Bug took hold of her hand and led her towards the bus; too intent on trying to get her mother's attention, Beth didn't even notice until it was too late. "MOMMY!!"

She was on the steps already. The bus driver's hand was gentle on her shoulder, and Bug was kissing her forehead, and the bus doors were closing and she was being led to her seat and the bus was pulling away and her mother was still facing away from her. Her father and brother and sister were waving, and Beth was sobbing with both hands at the window, and her mother never turned around.

* * *

Now

The silence that followed was heavy. Beth hadn't realized how much that memory still hurt; her throat was tight, and had started to ache from her efforts to keep from breaking into tears. Her residual anger, however, wouldn't let her cry. She couldn't look at Dr. Mortimer, so instead she looked at the walls of the room, waiting for him to speak.

When he did, he didn't sound shaken or uncomfortable, only sympathetic. "You didn't tell me that story before," he said.

"I don't like to talk about it," she said, her voice thick. She tried to cough to clear it, but it didn't work.

"I'm not on your mother's side, you know," he said. She did look at him then. When he caught her eye, he smiled slightly. "I'm not on anyone's 'side'. Well, except yours."

Beth didn't know what to say to that. She was quiet for a moment, and looked at her knees, which were right in front of her; she'd drawn her legs up onto the chair before her without realizing it. "Okay," she said finally. "I just... I kind of thought..."

"That I'd spoken to your mother, and was under her instructions?" That wasn't what Beth had thought, but it was close enough that she nodded. It was easier than speaking at the moment. He laughed a little. "Beth, I'm not her therapist, I'm yours. I'm not her spy, either. I don't take orders from her, I don't tell her - or anyone - what we talk about here, and I don't balance what you say against what she says. I promise you, your mother will only exist in this room if you want to speak about her."

She nodded. "Okay."

Dr. Mortimer nodded too. "With that said... That was a pretty rough story you just told me. Can I ask you something, though?" She nodded again, so he went on, "You said that you know now that she loves you. Do you believe that she always loved you?"

Beth wiped her eyes, which were watering just a little, and thought. Then she nodded. "I guess so. I mean... yes. I believe that she loved me when she did that. I tried... for a long, long time I tried to figure out why she turned her back on me and the only thing I could think, for years, was that she just wanted to get rid of me. But after I finished that school, she-" She paused to give a loud sniffle, and wipe one eye again, though she really wasn't crying - "She started to make it really clear that she wanted to keep me in her nest as long as possible. So I thought that maybe she really was trying to do what was best, and I, um, started wondering what... what was the point of that? You know? What was she trying to show me? The only thing I could think was that she was trying to teach me to be strong."

"You mean, self-esteem? Self-reliance?"

"Yeah. Like a seven-year-old is going to think 'Oh, I guess I'll have to depend on myself now' and come away with improved self-esteem after something like that. But I... I guess she must have meant well at the time."

"And do you believe that?" he asked again.

She thought once more, and ultimately she nodded again. "Yeah. I do. I mean... I might not agree with her most of the time, and I might not understand her any more than she understands me, but at least I know my Mom loves me." She gave a wry smile, still looking at her knees. "Just, it would have been nice not to have that five or so years of _not_ knowing it."

"Are you still angry with her for it?"

"Yes." She didn't have to think about that; it was as fresh now as it had ever been. "Yes. I'm angry for that. Because she can't ever take that back, you know? She can try all she wants, but... it can't be erased."

"I understand." He wrote something in his notebook. Beth wondered what it was. Then he said, "One last question. Have you really talked to your mother about this?"

"Yes!" she said quickly, and then took a moment to think about it. "Well - never about that day, though. And um... I guess..." She paused, trying to think of what she _had_ said to her mother; for all the fights they'd had, very few had been about anything she'd told Dr. Mortimer. "I guess... maybe not in the way you mean. I mean, I do tell her that she doesn't understand my life now and things like that, but I've never... Um, I guess it's more like we argue than do much talking."

"Would you be averse to trying to discuss this with her?"

"She doesn't really do discussions that well."

Dr. Mortimer cocked his head. "If you wanted, we could have her come in here. I could moderate. That way you could both say the things you need to say."

The thought of Dr. Mortimer trying to control Irene Webfoot while she said her piece almost made Beth laugh. She was tempted to take him up on his offer, just to show him how bad an idea it was. Instead she said, "I don't feel... up to that right now." One thing she did like about Dr. Mortimer was his tendency to back off if she so much as implied that a topic made her uncomfortable. As she expected, he nodded and changed the subject.

"Other than your problems with your mother, what was your family life like while you were away at school?"

That was an entirely different can of worms. 


	9. Act III, part 3

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

**Act III, part III**

Beth was three years old when her then-five-year-old sister Candy taught her to read her first book. Beth still remembered which one it was; the book was called 'Go, Kid, Go!' and was all about a bunch of children making their enthusiastic ways to a party. It used some very simple words, and Candy had read it in her kindergarten class and quickly mastered it. Her next excited step was to read it to her baby sister, and then - when the baby showed a clear interest in the book - to go over the words with her, one at a time, until Beth was the one reading the pages.

They moved on to a few other simple books, sharing a rocking chair and giggling, and Candy made Beth - Bessie, as Candy had called her since the days when she'd been too little to pronounce the "th" sound in her sister's name - promise to keep it their secret until the day that they would unleash it on the world. For days they racked up piles of books together, pulling out most of the books that cluttered up the shelves in their bedrooms and pushing their ways through them; then, just as Beth began to notice that she was doing more of the reading than her big sister, Candy moved on to art as her newest passion. Beth did not share this one with the same fervour, though she was always interested in picking up a few crayons and seeing what she could do with them... It just didn't have the same zing that reading had instantly created within her.

She asked her sister when they were going to show their parents what they could do. Candy replied testily that Beth had to be patient, and it really wasn't that great anyway, but even if it was she'd promised that it was a _secret_ and if she told, all her hair would fall out.

Beth would have kept the secret regardless of that scary promise - she idolized her sister and was quite willing to follow orders - but the thought of losing her hair scared her so much that she stopped talking entirely for a week and nearly considered giving up reading as well.

Candy's pictures were the talk of the family for a little while, until their big brother Beef started coming home with notes from his teachers and all of a sudden their parents didn't want to look at Candy's drawings. For a few weeks all they could talk about was Beef, and they talked _to_ him an awful lot too; finally they decided to do something to hold onto his back, and everyone seemed to relax again.

Without asking, Beth knew that now was not the time to show everyone how well she and Candy could read, even though she also knew instinctively that their parents would be thrilled by the news. Candy would know when the right time was to tell everyone, so Beth kept her mouth shut and waited. She waited for weeks, and months, and even though she never forgot how to read, it seemed that somehow Candy did. A long time after they'd read 'Go, Kid, Go!', Candy started getting notes from teachers saying she couldn't keep up with the other kids. As confused as Beth was, she kept her promise, and eventually the secret was buried so deeply that no one remembered it at all.

* * *

After her first two months away at school Beth was thrilled to be returning home. She packed far more than she would need for her two-week Christmas vacation, and lugged it along on the bus, on the strongly-founded hope that she'd be able to talk her parents into letting her stay at home instead of going back. It was always possible that they would even suggest it themselves.

On arriving home, however, things didn't go the way she had hoped. Her family (minus her father, who was at work) met her at the bus station, and on the way home Beth's mother explained that in order to make ends meet they had taken in a boarder - whom Beth's mother consistently referred to as "Mr. Fred Quills" - and he was staying in what had previously been Beth's room. Beth, in turn, would be sharing Candy's room during this visit. Once they returned to the house, Beth took a little while to drink in her surroundings and get her bags moved into Candy's room before Irene had them start to wash up for dinner.

Bug arrived home from work at the time Beth was used to, and she was delighted to be on the receiving end of one of his bear hugs. The family gathered for dinner, and Beth waited curiously to see the new face at the table, but he didn't show.

Irene sat the dinner dishes on the table, but didn't serve anyone; instead, she sat in her customary place at the head and folded her hands. "We're goin' to wait for Mr. Quills before we start eatin'. Meantime, yer Dad an' I think it's time we had a quick discussion about th' comin' holidays." She and Bug exchanged quick glances, and then she said swiftly, "This year, our Christmas is goin' to be a wee bit spare. Even wit' Mr. Quills stayin' here, Bethie's tuition is takin' a good chunk outta our income. I'll be takin' a part-time job come next year, but in the meantime we'll all have to make sacrifices where we can." She looked down the table at Beth, and said, "Dad an' I felt that this year our big treat was gettin' our Bethie home for Christmas; we can't afford much more'n that, but I know ye kids'll understand."

This was met with silence. Beth panicked on the inside; the phrase "big treat" in reference to her being home made her cold with fear. Was her being home special? Had they considered making her stay at Pinny's permanently? Surely that was just a turn of phrase, right?

Candy began, "Mommy-"

Irene interrupted her. "I t'ink I hear the door, pet. Remember, we don't talk about money in front of Mr. Fred Quills, so hush now."

The assembled company at the table fell silent, and there was a sound of movement in the front hallway. A moment later, a broad-shouldered, older man appeared. He had glasses and thinning hair, and was brushing lint off of a twill jacket. "Well well, I see you kept everything waiting for me!" he said; he had a funny sort of lisp when he spoke. "No need for this next time, folks, just jump right in or I feel guilty."

"Meals are part'o what yer payin' for," said Irene jovially. She passed him a the serving bowl of mashed potatoes as he sat down, and he began serving himself a large helping before passing it along.

"And that's a nice plus, I'll say that!" he said, echoing her tone. His eyes fell on Beth, and he smiled, revealing a large number of gold-capped teeth. "Well well! This must be the little one of the family I've heard so much about!"

Beth smiled shyly and tried to sink backwards into her seat. After a prod from Irene, she gave a soft, "Hi."

"Hi there! Back from boarding school, eh?"

"...I guess so," she said after a pause. Fred Quills laughed loudly.

"She guesses so! Adorable!" he told everyone, as if they hadn't heard her answer. "Well, I'm Mr. Fred Quills, and it's nice to finally meet you."

She nodded in response, and the table was quiet again until her mother again gave her a poke. "Introduce yerself," she instructed quietly.

"Oh," said Beth, and Fred Quills laughed again, which Beth didn't think was fair. He clearly knew who she was, so introducing herself hadn't seemed necessary; he didn't have to laugh, as though she'd made a silly mistake, to rub it in. "I'm... I'm, um, Miss Beth Webfoot."

"Miss Beth Webfoot!" he roared, laughing again, and Beth turned pink and tried even harder to sink through to the floor. She couldn't figure out what was so funny; she was just answering his questions. "I think we're going to get along famously, Miss Beth!"

She wasn't sure if she'd be reprimanded again if she didn't reply, so she forced out, "Okay. Yes." From the next seat, she just managed to notice Candy glaring at her viciously and scooping out the last of the mashed potatoes. Beth looked around the room and realized that she was the only one who hadn't had them yet. She sat still and said nothing, but filled her plate with extra salad instead.

"Bethie," said Irene, settling herself in her chair while everyone continued to serve themselves, "Mr. Quills is a _scholar_."

"Oh," said Mr. Quills modestly, "I mostly just teach a few classes at the university. I've written a handful of papers, but not much recently. I dabble, really," he said, and winked at Beth, who had never heard the word "dabble" and couldn't quite fathom what he meant.

"Mr. Quills studies litchrature," Irene continued, as if there had been no interruption. "I'll wager the two of yeh should have a good deal t'talk about."

"...Okay," Beth said, mostly to get her mother to stop trying to make her talk. She just wanted to eat, even though Candy had only left her half a piece of meat, and then go to bed.

Irene, however, seemed intent on getting Beth to do all the speaking that evening. "Tell us about school, pet!" she said eagerly. "Yeh must have hundreds of stories!"

"Um," said Beth, who didn't. "I... I don't..."

"Well, what's your favourite class?" asked Bug helpfully.

Beth tried to sound enthusiastic, since her parents seemed to think they had some image to maintain in front of Mr. Quills. "I, um, I like math." She waited after she said this, but no one spoke; so she added, "And sometimes, we get to do chemistry experiments on our own. A few times a week, usually. That's fun."

Mr. Quills nodded; Beth's mother, however, shot a look towards her husband and then took control of the conversation. "Tell us about all the fun yer havin'!" she said, and as cheerful as it sounded, Beth heard it as an order. "Have ye met many friends?"

Wincing, Beth admitted, "Um... not really..."

There was a pause, and then Irene said, "No?"

Beth worried that she was about to get in trouble, as if she'd failed to live up to her mother's rules without knowing what they were. Then she remembered Nicola, the new girl she'd met the week before, and she brightened. "Well - there's this one girl... Nicola... she's nice."

"Just the one?" asked Irene, a little quietly; she sounded almost sad for a moment. Beth nodded, and Irene shook her head and smiled. "Well, that's lovely, pet! Tell us all about her!"

Beth sighed; that was exactly what she didn't want to do.

It was another five minutes of agony - Irene shooting questions at her and Beth answering them as if she were having teeth pulled - before Candy announced, "I learned a new song in school today for Christmas!"

Mr. Fred Quills sprang to life. "Well well, really! Then you _must_ sing it."

"Welllll, okay," said Candy with a glowing smile. She stood, cleared her throat, and belted out a very confident rendition of "Good King Wenceslas". Although Beth understood that her sister had not been intentionally stepping in to save her, she nevertheless felt a flood of gratitude.

* * *

That night, Candy gave Beth the silent treatment - through dessert (ice cream, which Candy managed to knock out of Beth's bowl), through the annual Webfoot Christmas Tree Trimming, even through the crazy dance number her family liked to do to Bing Crowsby and the Anatidae Sisters' rendition of "Jingle Bells". Bug took a million pictures, as was standard, but Beth was too busy watching her mother for any sign of affection to give much notice to her father's presence.

There was no sign of any real feeling, either good or bad. Beth's mother seemed determined to act as if Beth had been home for the past six weeks, not away; all "catching up" had been done over dinner, and now it was life as usual. Could that be the sign she needed, that she would be allowed to stay..? She decided to ask Candy later, once her older sister was speaking to her again.

She didn't find out until later just what it was that was bothering Candy. The sisters' bedtime was still promptly at 8:30 pm, and Beth was determined to be a model guest in her sister's sanctuary. She tucked herself in on the mattress that took up half of the floor, and waited for Candy to come in from the bathroom.

When Candy did enter, she stopped short at the sight of Beth cocooned under the blankets, and heaved a sigh. "I'm gonna break my neck tripping over that thing if I get up in the middle of the night, I just know it," she muttered to herself.

"There's no other place to put it," said Beth tentatively, "and nothing smaller for me to sleep on. B-but I bet we can have fun, don't you think?"

Candy didn't answer, just sniffed and stepped gingerly around the offending object taking up space. She settled on her bed with a "Witchy Wendy" comic book and loudly ignored Beth.

Trying again, Beth sat up and said, "I read some really good stuff at school. Like..." She tried to think of something Candy would like; the Drakespeare might have been a little too dry for her. "Um, oh, this one book about Robin Hood! It's a lot longer than I thought it would be, 'cause I know you know the _story_ but there's actually all this stuff about the Crusades and where King Richard is, and-"

"Rrrgh, you doofus," said Candy, tossing the comic book down onto her bed. "I am _not speaking to you_, don't you get that?"

Beth blinked; technically, that was obvious since she had been the one doing the speaking, but she decided not to point that out. "I-I, um, I thought you said that if I followed the rules, you didn't mind having me stay in here."

She was afraid Candy wouldn't answer, but apparently now that the silence had been broken already, speech was at least temporarily allowed. "That was _before_," said Candy. She kicked her slippers off and stuck them under her bed, then wiggled under her covers. "I want to go to sleep so I'm turning out this light. That better be okay with you because this is _my_ room."

"Okay," said Beth as the light clicked off, though she knew her consent made no difference. "Before what?" she asked a moment later.

The light clicked back on, and Candy sat up and glared at her pointedly. "I was supposed to get a Malibu Mitzi makeup bag and mirror for Christmas this year. But now that we're _poor_ because of your stupid _school_, I won't be able to get it. So thanks a lot." She clicked the light off again, and Beth heard her turn over onto her side.

"Well," said Beth consolingly into the darkness, "maybe Santa Claus will get it for you."

Candy laughed haughtily. "Oh Beth, you're such a child," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," came Candy's voice matter-of-factly, "that there _is_ no Santa Claus, Brainiac."

Beth didn't answer; she was too shocked to do so. For nearly an hour she couldn't sleep, trying to decide if Candy was telling the truth or if it was just a particularly mean-spirited way to get back at her for ruining Christmas.

* * *

Christmas morning came about a week later, to much fanfare on the part of Beth's parents and a general sense of anticlimax from her siblings. As Candy had said, Santa Claus didn't pick up the slack on their parents' inability to do much in the way of gifts, and the morning tradition of opening gifts was down from an hour to just over twenty minutes. Bug used up only two rolls of film during the festivities, and many of the photos ended up being of Beef, Candy and Beth wearing similarly apathetic expressions.

Beth's stocking was about halfway full, with the usual orange at the bottom; the remainder of her little gifts were jacks (Candy's favourite game, but not high on Beth's list), a few finger puppets, and a pack of cards. Her gift from her parents was a reasonably-priced, small calculator, for which she was grateful but which she didn't desperately need, since numbers came to her fairly quickly; Santa did contribute a bit in the form of a small stack of books. He also gave Beef a football jersey (though not the football he'd wanted), and Candy received a fashion doll that was not Malibu Mitzi. She wasn't entirely mollified, but she did consent to sing "Santa Baby" in the style of Eartha Kitten after breakfast that morning. Beth wondered if her sister would have agreed so quickly to sing if Mr. Fred Quills had not been vacationing in Florida for the holiday, but for all she knew, Candy would have been _more_ enthusiastic at the prospect of a larger audience.

As they sat in front of the fire, Candy planted herself in Irene's lap and handed her a hair brush. "Can I have a braid, Mommy?"

Irene took the brush and started combing her older daughter's hair back away from her face. "Did'ya have a Merry Christmas, pet?" she asked.

"Sure," said Candy vaguely.

Beth watched them sitting together, with her mother cooing and stroking Candy's hair, and felt a stinging bite of jealousy. Candy got to see their mother _every day_. Why didn't she? Why, when she hadn't seen her family in six weeks, was she blending into the background as if she were constantly underfoot? "Can... can you do my hair next, Mommy?" she asked softly.

Irene turned and pursed her lips, then shook her head slightly. "I'm afraid there's not enough there t'do much with, me darlin'," she said lightly. "Ye'll need to grow it out a bit b'fore we can get fancy wit' it." She smiled briefly, then turned back to Candy's head as if hypnotized by the golden plaits.

The bite got stronger within Beth's chest; it was true that her hair was short, only chin-length, but... but wasn't there SOMEthing she could do? If not her hair, maybe... But Beth couldn't think of anything to ask for, and she wondered why she'd have to ask in the first place. Her hopes of getting to stay after the New Year crumbled; her mother's love went to Candy, and Beth was superfluous.

A flash went off to her right. Beth turned belatedly to see her father lowering a large camera, grinning at her. "Nice profile, sweetie!" he said, then saw her expression, her wet eyes. "Hey... What's wrong? Need a hug?"

"No," she said, and shook her head. "I just need to go to the bathroom." She stood and stepped past him before he could ask again.

* * *

July, 1975

The summer was not any easier, nor was it any different. Why, Beth wondered, did she keep expecting her family to treat her differently when she returned from a long absence at school? It had been the same each time she'd come home: for mid-winter break, for Easter, and now for summer. The only difference was that she was here for longer, and that unlike the previous vacations, she had no homework or anything at all to do.

She did come bearing reports from her first year at school; no grades, because Professor Pinfeather's did not use a grading system per se, but she had anecdotal reports from her teachers and a general "rating" of her progress. It was all fine - one could almost say excellent, but Beth read all the words with a sense that none of the instructors really liked her, and she read between the lines a lack of enthusiasm that bordered on insult. "Elizabeth knows her material backwards and forwards" looked like a compliment to others, perhaps, but Beth saw in it an accusation that she was unwilling to progress, or to work outside her comfort level. She wanted to be innovative, inspirational, ground-breaking. Instead, she blended in with the crowd again, in her classes as in her social life and her family.

Irene worked four half-days a week, and as a result Candy was the assigned caretaker. This arrangement was not to Candy's liking, and as time went on, Beth found it was less than favourable for her as well. The main reason for this was not because of the way Candy spoke to her and treated her - Beth was used to that - but because both were under strict instruction not to let the other out of their sight. This meant that Beth was rule-bound to follow Candy no matter where Candy felt like going, and not able to just retreat and get away from the usual mockery that her sister lately seemed to want to toss her way.

Worse, Candy did _not_ feel bound by any rules to keep Beth around her; although most of the time she abided by her mother's instructions, occasionally a rebellious bug bit her and she did her best to ditch Beth - at the mall, in the park, wherever they might be. This normally happened when Candy's friends showed up. In any case, it filled Beth with a kind of terror that left her entirely unable to relax. She knew with a cold sort of certainty that, if Candy were to successfully get rid of her, Beth would be blamed; Candy was exceptionally good at faking tears, and Beth could already hear her telling their mother in a shaky, warbly voice that she had only turned away for a _moment_ and when she looked back Beth had run off somewhere...

Many of their days that summer were spent at the pool, which was one of Candy's favourite places; less so for Beth, though at least she and Candy were equally competent swimmers. Not surprisingly, Candy didn't spend a lot of time in the water, but the reason for this was a Big Secret.

"Stupid glasses," Candy said at home, at least once a day.

"Why are the glasses stupid?" Beth had asked once, early on in the summer weeks. "Can't you just wear your contacts?"

Candy answered her as if she were very, very stupid. "Of _course_ I'll wear them. But I can't get them _wet_," she said. "They're not supposed to go into the water, so as long as I have the contacts in I can't _swim_."

"So... don't wear them?"

"Are you really supposed to be a genius?" Candy shot back at her, looking at her with total disdain. "If I don't wear them then I have to wear my glasses to be able to see. And if I did that in public, my life would be _over_."

There was no point in arguing, so Beth didn't. Candy's glasses usually sat in a drawer in her dresser and gathered dust, except for the occasions when Beth snuck them out and tried them on in front of the mirror.

In any case, Beth didn't mind going to the pool, exactly. She enjoyed being in the water, but since Candy didn't go in, that meant she didn't either. It would be too easy for Candy to run off while Beth was distracted in the pool. Instead she sat out in the hot sun, and no matter how carefully she applied sunblock, she always seemed to miss somewhere and ended up with at least one pink patch of sunburn every few days.

Today, three days before Beth's eighth birthday, Candy couldn't seem to locate any of her friends poolside so she was actually chatting to Beth. Beth was really only interested in her book, and was hoping that once they got home the mail would have arrived; she was expecting a letter from Nicola, who so far had been good about writing every Monday and the letters usually arrived by Thursday.

"If I got sunburned," Candy was saying, "I would just _die_."

"It's not usually that bad," Beth said.

"What? No, I mean because of the pageant on Saturday. NObody with a sunburn is ever crowned Miss Farm Fresh Summer, you know."

"Oh." Candy's latest craze was competing in beauty pageants; their parents were exceedingly excited about it, perhaps because of the prize money that was usually involved. Beth thought it was exciting, too, but going to the actual competitions made her feel like there was something wrong with her. "Well, did you put sunblock on?"

"If I did _that_ I wouldn't be able to get a tan!" Candy said with a sigh. "I need tanning oil, not sunblock. It's all in knowing the right amount of time to stay outside." She turned onto her stomach and stretched out. "I was talking to Ellie and she said that she thinks the girls in the Miss Farm Fresh Summer pageant are all very rustic." She said "rustic" like it was an insult. "So I bet I know more makeup tricks than they do. This should be a snap. Are you gonna come?"

"Yes," Beth said, trying to pay more attention to "The Three Musketeers" than to her sister.

"You don't even _care_," Candy said petulantly, and looked around again for her friends. Finding no one, she turned back to Beth. "You know, that swimsuit does nothing for you. You should get a blue one, something that matches your eyes. Red just makes you look washed out."

Beth looked up at her; she hated it when Candy was bored, because it meant that she'd be on the receiving end of a lot of unwelcome makeup and fashion tips. "This is yours. Remember? Mommy said we can't buy anything new for a while."

"Oh yeah. Well, I can wear red because of my feather tone." She studied her younger sister a minute more, then said, "I bet you'll have to wear glasses."

"You think so?" The idea intrigued Beth a little bit; glasses seemed exotic.

"You _would_ be excited by something like that." Candy shifted up onto her elbows and shook her head, fanning her hair out over her shoulders. "Just you wait. You'll get them and you'll see." The phrasing made Beth giggle, and Candy frowned. "Very funny. Just you _wait_. No boy will look twice at you."

"Ew, good," Beth answered; she didn't even need to consider it. "I don't want boys looking at me anyway."

"You will," said Candy with certainty. Once more, she said, "Just wait." 


	10. Act III, part 4

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

**Act III, part IV**

_A/N: I'm sorry... this one just turned out to be long again. Really... REALLY... long. I even took two scenes out to shorten it and it still... wow. On the other hand I think I am definitely past the halfway mark now. Oy... Anyway, Act 4 coming soon! Maybe!_

* * *

July, 1977

"There. How do things look now?"

Beth blinked at the sudden level of magnification on the lenses she was peering through, and tried to read the bottom line of letters again. This time she could see them much more clearly. The doctor made one more adjustment, and everything finally locked into focus. She read the line without any mistakes.

When the doctor stepped away to speak with her mother, Beth looked at the posters on the wall through her own eyes, and couldn't do it without squinting. Then she looked back into the viewfinder (or whatever it was) and realized she hadn't seen letters look that crisp in a few months at least.

It had taken her parents a while to get her eyes looked at, mainly because it hadn't occured to Beth to say anything about the headaches she was getting or the fact that things were a little on the fuzzy side; it wasn't until she was trying to read on the couch one day and suddenly remembered that she used to be able to read just fine without hunching over and drawing the pages up towards her face that she wondered if, perhaps, something was wrong.

Now here she was, getting her eyes examined the day before her tenth birthday (an event she would certainly love to forget), and after spending years being vaguely intrigued by the prospect of needing glasses she found that, instead, the entire prospect scared her. What was happening to her eyes? She couldn't banish the fear that, whatever it was, it was just going to keep getting worse. After all, her eyes had been more or less fine a few weeks ago - or she thought they had, at least... it was hard to remember when this had started. But now she couldn't even identify people standing in front of her. What if she was going blind? Would they be able to stop it? To Beth, it felt like there was no worse fate in her future than to go blind. After losing her only friend, books had filled the hole - at least somewhat - and they were an effective method of shutting out the rest of the world. Plus, there were just so _many_ books left in the world that she needed to read. She hadn't even heard of a lot of them yet.

Beth's mother and the doctor returned, smiling cheerily, and the doctor explained that her eyesight was 20/150 and that she would need corrective lenses and need to take care not to read in dim light and a bunch of other things. Beth only really cared about one thing.

"Will I go blind?" she asked, in what she really felt was a rational voice.

The doctor chuckled. "No, that's not likely. Quite a lot of people need corrective glasses, including your sister, as your mother told me."

That hadn't really answered Beth's question - she and Candy didn't share the same pair of eyes - but the fact that Candy's vision hadn't worsened any over the past few years did give her a cause for hope. "She's got contact lenses," said Beth.

"Mmm, I don't think ye'll be needin' those," Irene cut in. She smiled. "Pet, the doctor's goin' to write us up a perscription, an' then we'll head out to buy ye some new glasses! How's that sound?"

"I didn't ask for contact lenses," Beth felt a need to clarify, because she hadn't. No one really paid her much mind, since the doctor was talking about prescriptions and the cost of frames, and Irene never listened to her youngest daughter anyway.

* * *

What, she wondered, would people at Professor Pinny's say about her new glasses? Probably nothing, actually - quite a lot of the students there wore them. As her mother selected various frames and held them up to Beth's face to get an idea of how they'd look, Beth switched her focus a little and wondered what the other kids would say if she did, indeed, end up going blind. Probably they'd say she deserved it.

Maybe she did, at that. She didn't have to be a genius to notice that this had happened pretty shortly after she'd trashed Nicola in public; maybe it was the wrath of God. Even if that wasn't the case, Beth was aware that she'd been a horrible person, and horrible things were supposed to happen to horrible people. It was the way the world worked - an eye for an eye, right?

So she couldn't complain about needing glasses. She couldn't even complain about going blind, if that was how this ended. And if her vision was spared, she promised anyone who was listening, she would be extra careful to be the nicest girl everyone knew. Whether they liked her or not, everyone everywhere would say "Oh, Beth? Yeah, she's nice. Ugly and stupid, but nice."

Her mother picked up a pair of tortoise-shell frames and smiled. "These'd go nicely with yer hair, pet."

"Can I get the green ones?" Beth asked, pointing at a set of round frames that she liked. The tortoise ones reminded her of the ones her Gramma wore.

"Y'don't like the pattern?" Beth shrugged; she didn't want to say so. It would be rude, right? She was supposed to be nice. Irene frowned, put the frames down, and picked up a pair of blue ones. "These, then. They go wit' yer eyes."

Beth hunched her shoulders a little and fidgeted, then said, "I like green. It's my favourite colour."

"Hon, green is nice, but I t'ink the blue is more yer style."

Her mother hustled off to find a sales clerk, and Beth was left to herself. Well. Perhaps her mother knew best. Sure she did. She was her mother, after all, and...

Better get used to it, Beth told herself with resignation. This was what her life was going to be like from here on out: everyone else would get to win. She lifted her chin and decided to try to like blue.

* * *

"...Happy birthday dear Bethie, happy birthday toooo yooooou!"

The flash on Bug's camera went off several times as Candy walked the cake out to her sister. Once that was done, the room was lit almost exclusively by candles for a few moments as Beth looked at her cake. It actually had ten candles on it; she just had to stare for a moment, taking it in and accepting that fact. When she blew the candles out, she wished she could be happy.

Her family applauded, and her father turned the lights back on and snapped a few more pictures. "Whatcha wish for?" Candy asked.

"I'm not supposed to say," Beth said, smiling a little.

"C'mon, if you tell people it's more likely to come true."

Beth shook her head. "I already know that it's the opposite."

Beef said, "C'mon! Let's eat!" and Irene stepped in to cut the cake up.

Candy sidled around to Beth's other side and said to her quietly, "Happy birthday anyway. Hope it comes true."

Beth was touched. "Me too. Maybe it will."

"Did you wish for contacts?" she asked, louder. Beth froze; the closeness she'd felt to her sister mere seconds ago evaporated.

"No," she said, but was drowned out as Irene spoke up.

"We discussed this, Bethie," she said matter-of-factly as she piled cake onto plates, "contacts aren't in th' budget. No more fussin'."

Beth, stung, felt a lump grow in her throat. Why did Candy have to say that? Why did her mother have to rebuke her, why right NOW? And - she couldn't help wondering - why was it okay for Candy to get contacts, but even for her birthday Beth couldn't have such a treat?

It suddenly didn't matter that she didn't want them, or that the thought of adhering something to her eyeball made her feel queasy. She forgot her promise from earlier to be nice, and the next words that popped out of her mouth seemed to do so of their own accord. "If school costs too much, why don't I just quit?"

Irene froze midway through serving the cake. After a moment she slowly began moving again. "That's outta the question."

"Why not? I hate it there." Beth spoke more loudly as she realized her mother was finally paying attention. "I hate it there and I'd rather go to no school at all than stay!"

"Yer father an' I are scrimpin' and savin' for yer education, an' I expect some gratitude, young lady!"

Beth stood up and pushed away from the table. Her chair fell over behind her. "I don't care! I hate it!" she repeated, and when her mother started yelling at her she yelled it again, just to drown out her mother's voice. She yelled it over and over, her hands over her ears, until she found the strength in her legs to run upstairs to her room.

Of course, it wasn't her room; it was Candy's room, and Beth was the permanent guest. Even after two years it was still understood that Candy was being generous. With this in mind Beth was wary even as she cried into her pillow; if Candy wanted to she could come up, kick Beth out, and leave her totally exposed. But that would be her punishment, she realized, for being horrible again. Horrible to her own mother.

She cried carefully, as quietly as possible, waiting for the sword to fall. No one came into the room for more than 30 minutes, and finally the door opened and Candy slid in, shutting the door again behind her. "Wow," she said, "that was _so_ dramatic."

Beth sniffled and didn't speak, waiting to see what her sister would do.

"Well, happy birthday anyway, Miss Crybaby. The cake was good. You shoulda stayed down there."

"Y-you guys -" She stopped to sniffle - "Ate m-my c-cake?"

"Beef was hungry." Candy sat on her bed. Beth couldn't see her expression. "There's some left for you. A lot, actually. Mom didn't eat much."

"Oh." Beth wondered if her mother was sorry for their fight. But if she was, it obviously wasn't enough to get her to come upstairs to talk. She felt she was being horrible again, but she just couldn't help it.

Candy got up from her bed and then flopped down on the mattress next to Beth. "So lemme see those glasses," she said, reaching towards Beth's face. Beth jerked away, irritated, and Candy stopped. "Okay, fine. You can leave your sticky prints all over mine but I can't see yours for a second. Whatever. Baby sisters are such a pain."

"I'm not a baby, I'm _ten_," Beth said angrily.

Smiling, Candy patted her on the head. "You just act like a baby. I can't help it." She looked at her sister carefully for a moment, then said, "Let's play dress-up."

"I don't want to," Beth moaned, and rolled over.

"No, it'll be fun! You should stop living in those denim shorts and stuff. I have a ton of skirts you could wear and if they don't fit you can just fix them, right?" Candy stood up and headed to her closet, which she had so far refused to share with Beth. "I bet you could be cute if you stopped wearing such ugly clothes."

"They're mostly YOUR clothes," Beth snapped.

"Yeah but I wore them differently. You just put them together all wrong and it turns out weird." She stopped, considered a lace camisole, and then tossed it over her shoulder onto the bed. It was followed by a rain of other garments. "See, someone should have taught you all this stuff a long time ago so you didn't embarrass yourself. Now that you're ten-"

"I already said I don't want to!" Beth said, louder this time. She didn't care anymore about being nice; no one in this house was nice to her, and it didn't make sense that she should have to be nice to them. She'd accept her punishment, whatever it was.

Candy stopped, and let the clothes she was holding fall to the ground. Her face was blank. It took Beth a moment to realize that Candy was hurt. "Fine. Keep being a baby," she said finally. "I'm trying to make you feel better."

That didn't change the fact that Beth wasn't interested, so she refused to let herself feel bad. It was Candy's fault for not paying attention to the things that Beth liked. "I didn't ask you to. Just leave me alone."

"You know, this is MY room," Candy said, finally voicing the words that Beth had been dreading since the start.

"I know," she answered in a quiet voice. She hid her head in the pillow and waited to be kicked out.

There was silence, then Candy heaved a big sigh. "You're a little creep," she said finally. "If you wanna be alone, fine, be that way." There were footsteps, then the door opened and shut. After a few moments Beth checked to see if Candy had really gone.

The room was empty. It felt empty. Beth felt empty, too.

* * *

It was late August. She'd be going back to school again soon. Beth was shocked to find that she was relieved - she had not been lying to her mother when she'd said she hated it; but it was better than the alternative.

She looked in the mirror at the school slacks she was trying on, and sighed. They were too short again. She'd let them down a half an inch at the beginning of the month, but apparently her growth spurt over the summer hadn't begun and ended overnight. Instead, Beth was three inches taller than she'd been in May when she'd come home for the summer, and potentially was going to keep growing until who knew when.

With her already-skinny frame now lengthening but not widening in the least, Beth looked even more like the bean-pole Candy was constantly accusing her of being. She was taller than her older sister by more than a couple of inches and it meant that now she had to go back and alter even the hand-me-downs she'd already tailored to herself... Well, it was something to do, anyway.

She hadn't spoken much to her family for the second half of the summer... since her birthday. Well, she'd spoken to her father, and she and her brother never communicated much anyway, but Candy had been quieter than usual. It was a relief in a way; Beth had a slight reprieve from her sister's previously non-stop mockery. But it was a little lonely, too.

Her mother, meanwhile, had offered a tight apology the morning after her birthday and had apparently considered the matter closed and dealt with since then. She hadn't mentioned money, contacts, or the birthday since then. Beth felt a little cheated. As a result, she had avoided her mother on purpose for the past few weeks. She couldn't tell if Irene noticed, but assumed that she hadn't. Generally, if Irene noticed something that bothered her, everyone heard all about it.

At least, she thought to herself, she could escape to school. Life at home was only going to get worse. At school she could start over: she could be that nice girl, the one she wanted so desperately to be, because no one would be picking at her all the time. She wouldn't get angry with them because she wouldn't expect anything from anyone, anyway. Maybe once she'd mastered being nice to everyone else, she could finally master it with her family, too.

She hoped. That would be nice. Then they could all be happy.

Until then, she would hide at school and be the person she wanted to be, even if no one noticed her enough to see it.

* * *

Christmas Eve, 1989

Beth swallowed hard and pushed the doorbell while her suitcases sat at her feet like little lions, stoically protecting her.

Every year they invited her for Christmas, and every year she said no; every year, she had invented a reason not to. This year, she still hadn't said yes. But she hadn't said no. She wondered if it would make a difference to them - if they'd even noticed what had been a huge difference to her.

What if they answered the door and looked at her like a stranger? It had been four years.

Well, she'd asked the taxi cab to wait. So if she needed to, she could run back and leave again. Easy enough.

She should have called, she realized. Why hadn't she called? Just because she hadn't known for sure that she was coming until she'd carried her suitcases out to the taxi didn't mean she couldn't have called.

Just as the tension was getting to be far too much for her, and Beth was wondering if she might be better off just passing out, the door opened and a four-year-old girl she'd never seen stared out at her.

"Um... Hi," Beth said, trying to sound warm and outgoing. "I'll bet you're Katherine, aren't you?"

The girl stepped back from the door just a bit, and called down the hall, "Mommy! There's a lady here!" Then she started off down the hall herself, running at the pace of the usual preschooler in a hurry.

"Who is it?" was the response from farther into the house.

From a distance, Beth heard Katherine say in a gentle bellow, "I dunno!"

Her breath caught in her chest. She tried to propel herself into the house, but her feet wouldn't move yet. She did twist around to check and make sure the cab was still there, which it was; the driver looked bored. She turned back to the door just in time to see her mother step into view. Irene wore an apron that was covered in flour. When she saw Beth, she gasped.

Beth smiled weakly. "Ho ho ho," she said. Her voice cracked a little.

"Elizabeth Webfoot." Irene put her hand to her chest and stared in surprise. A moment later, she said, "Saints an' glory, Bethie, what a wonderful day!" She launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around her second daughter, tugging her into the house; at the same time, she called, "Candace an' William, get yer father! Yer sister's come home!"

There was a general mass of confusion and yelling. Beth couldn't stop grinning, and her mother was wiping away tears with her apron, and everyone was hugging her. She was properly introduced to her younger sister, Katherine ("Kit" as everyone had taken to calling her; Beth vaguely remembered that from a letter), reintroduced to her seven-year-old brother Edgar - now commonly called "Eddie" by the family at large - nearly crushed by her older brother Beef, and lovingly teased by Candy within minutes of entering the house. Her father found an excuse to pull out not one or two but _three_ different cameras, and took panorama shots, timed-delay family photos, and various candids throughout the rest of the evening. Beth dreaded seeing them, but for once the attention was so overwhelmingly positive that she couldn't seem to make herself care too much.

With everything else going on, it was a half an hour before she remembered that the taxi was still waiting outside at the curb. Her parents had to help her pay the fare. No one appeared to mind.

Dinner that night was wonderful; her mother had outdone herself, and Beth was doted on. With a general proclamation that Beth was "wasting away", plus repeated questioning as to whether or not she actually had eaten anything in the past three years, Irene forced second helpings of everything on her prodigal daughter and managed to stuff three full slices of cherry pie into her as well. Although it was a great change of pace, Beth did find that she was dreading the next day's dinner, if it was going to be a repeat of the sheer volume of food at this meal.

The meal itself aside, conversation was passable. Although Beth had been away for four years, she had kept in decent contact with her mother through the mail and telephone calls; she'd left things a little sparse lately, however, since she wasn't sure how to explain her latest direction in life to her parents - specifically to her mother... She'd been trying to find the right spin for it, but had come up mostly blank.

Naturally the question came up anyway, the one she was dreading. Surprisingly, it was her father who voiced it. "So, sweetie, what's in store for 1990? Where's that big brain of yours leading you these days?"

Beth shifted nervously in her seat and put a big smile on her face. "Oh, you know, well - Mom told you I left school, right?" She gave a quick glance to her mother, who was in the process of dishing out Kit's food onto a teddy bear-themed plate that Beth remembered from her own childhood, and when there was no real response she went on. "Well, th-the great thing about that is that my future is just wide open. I mean, I can do ANYthing, really. So I, I don't really have anything specific lined up just _yet_, but a few weeks ago I started this part-time job in a hardware store just to pass the time until I figure out just where I'm headed. It's great, too, the schedule is so free and I get to work with people." That last was one of the parts she disliked quite a bit, actually, but it was the kind of thing she felt would please her parents to hear.

There was a slight clatter, and Beth looked towards her mother, who had dropped the mashed potato spoon onto the table. Her eyes met Beth's, and she quickly picked the spoon back up and put it back into the serving bowl, saying nothing. Beth looked back at her father. The smile on Bug's face had dimmed slightly, but when she met his eyes he perked up instantly. "That sounds like a lot of fun, sweetie, and I'm glad you're happy."

"Wait, wait," said Candy. "Beth's spent all this time doing nothing except being in school and now she's dropped out of it to work minimum wage in retail, and we're all congratulating her? For what, exactly?"

Beth's face flushed and she started to reply, but her mother cut her off. "I don't t'ink now is the time to talk about those t'ings, pet. What Bethie wants to do is her business, an' she's a grown woman who can make those decisions."

Surprised, Beth stared at her mother. Irene still didn't look at her - she was focused on her own plate of food now - but at that moment, Beth felt closer to her mother than she ever had. She _did_ understand. Beth herself didn't know if she really wanted to do what she was doing, but hearing from her own mother that it was finally up to her was a greater gift than she could have hoped for.

The rest of dinner passed easily, with good conversation and better food. After the meal, as the family moved into the living room to read "The Night Before Christmas" before opening one present each, Irene said, "Oh dear - pet, I fergot to mention this earlier, but since Beef is stayin' for the holidays we're short a room for ye. D'ye mind bunkin' wit' Candy again?"

"Oh," said Beth. She'd forgotten about the living arrangements; after they'd stopped taking in boarders, Beth's room had again been her own, and an equity loan had allowed them to put in an addition for Edgar when he arrived. Beef had moved out shortly after that, and his room had been the "guest room" for a while; Beth had initially assumed that, after she had left, her room had gone to the new baby. Instead, her mother's letters had casually mentioned that Beef's room had been converted into the nursery, and Beth's room was now the "spare" - a subtle, cunning undercurrent of the letter suggested that it was spare in name only, and was really just waiting for its true owner to return. But this arrangement was fair; she hadn't actually told them she'd be coming, so it was fine for Beef to have her room. Which, she reminded herself, was really not her room and hadn't been for years... perhaps even more years than she was willing to acknowledge.

"Oh, that's fine," Beth said finally. "But actually, about rooming with Candy - I don't need to do that, I mean she needs her space, right? I can sleep out here on the couch. I get up early every day." She smiled, and nodded at Candy, who grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

"If that's what ye'd rather, pet." Irene stood on tiptoe and gave her a little kiss on her forehead. "Just don't let Santa Claus keep ye up tonight."

"SANTA CLAAAAUS!" yelled Kit, and ran around the room singing the first line of 'Here Comes Santa Claus' over and over.

Edgar, Beth noticed, sat on his own and read a book. Beth eased herself into the chair nearest him, wondering if her stomach might explode from too much food, and smiled at him. He still looked like a baby, in a way, even though he was twice the size he'd been when she'd seen him last.

"Hi Eddie," she said, aware that she was interrupting his reading and hoping he didn't mind.

He didn't look up from his book, but said "Hi," without pause. His voice was friendly enough - she didn't detect any resentment - so she spoke again.

"Can I see what you're reading?"

Eddie looked up at her now, without showing any signs of irritation at the interruption, and then showed her the cover. "'Treasure Island'," he said. "It's about pirates."

"Hey, I've read that one!" she said. She sat down next to him, cautiously, expecting at any moment that he would balk at the idea of her company. Instead he made room for her and closed the book on his finger, an oddly adult habit she didn't expect from a seven-year-old. "Do you like it so far?"

"Yeah, it's good," he said, his voice neutral. "I just started it this morning, but it's paced really well."

Once again, Beth was surprised by the phrase; it wasn't even the kind of thing she'd heard at Pinny's, not out of kids Eddie's age anyway. "Who do you like better, Captain Smollett or Long John Silver?"

Eddie considered this with all the dedicated concentration of a young child, screwing up his face in thought. "Well, Long John is real nice to Jim," he said at length, "but I don't know if he's... um..."

"Trustworthy?" Beth offered.

"Yeah," said Eddie, nodding. "He seems kind of shifty to me."

"Hmmm, you keep reading and see what happens, then," Beth said, nodding. She noticed that he was nearing the halfway mark, and blinked. "You just started this book this morning?"

Eddie nodded.

"What else have you read?" she asked, and without answering he got up and beckoned to her. She followed him down the hall to his room in the house's first floor extension, and when he flicked on the light and pointed to his bookshelves, she gasped. "ALL of these?"

The shelves were two-tiered, and piled with chapter books of varying lengths and ages. From recent works to works of literature, shiny new covers to dog-eared old novels, Edgar appeared to have been working his way through every book in the house.

"Most of them," he said. "I didn't like a couple, so I stopped reading them."

"That's amazing, Edgar!" Beth said, staring. All the books she'd left behind when she'd moved out were there, in stacks, along with a bunch of newer ones. She was astounded, and irrationally proud; she'd been the one to introduce Eddie to books, way back when she'd been babysitting him, and she felt it was logical that she could take at least a little responsibility for this.

"Thanks," Eddie said. He sounded quite matter-of-fact. "Mom and Dad had my IQ tested a couple months ago."

Beth felt her stomach drop. "What?" She knew what happened after that: you got tested, then you got shipped out, destined to be someone else's problem. She knelt in front of her younger brother, feeling intensely protective. "And - and what happened?"

He looked back at her with his intense blue eyes, a shared feature of most of the Webfoot family, and there was no sign in them of any of the trauma Beth had gone through. "I had to put a bunch of shapes into different shapes, and read some stuff really quickly so that I could write about it, and then -"

"No, I mean - I mean, what happened after the testing?"

"Oh. I dunno, not a lot. I take a few extra classes a few days a week, but I still get to see my friends most days, and I have a little extra homework." He cocked his head. "I guess I did good on the test."

"I guess so," she said, relief coursing through her. She made a note to talk to her parents about this while she was home - if they showed any sign of sending Eddie off to Professor Pinny's or some other place... Well, she didn't know what she'd do. Her mother was almost impossible to fight with, but she'd do SOMEthing to stop it. For the meantime, though, she spent a half an hour talking with Eddie about which books were their favourites before Irene came in and informed him it was time to get ready for bed.

* * *

After a Christmas Day that was better than she could have hoped for, Beth found that things began to fall apart beginning on December 26th, almost like clockwork. They were little things at first - small misunderstandings or miscommunications, which Beth tried to write off as typical for any family, especially during the strain of the holidays.

Then Candy had to go and prove that she would never change. Most of the family was gathered in the living room - except Beef, who had returned to his own place - and Beth's mother made another comment about how skinny her middle daughter was.

"I can't help it, Mom," Beth said, trying to keep from getting annoyed. Her mother only nagged about this out of love. "I _do_ eat, I swear." She did, too - although she was aware it probably wasn't really enough; she was even skinnier than she'd been as a teenager, and regretted it every time she tailored her clothes.

"I only worry, pet," her mother said.

Candy cut in. "Leave her alone, Mom. Some people are just naturally lucky."

Beth, who didn't feel especially lucky to be underweight and made up of angles, couldn't bring herself to feel flattered; but it was such a turn-around from when they were children that she was grateful for the comment. "Well, it's not exactly like that, but... thanks."

"Honestly, Beth, you just manage it without effort. Some people would kill to be that thin. In fact, you could probably be a model." Beth had just enough time to be surprised and pleased by the compliment, before her sister finished, "I mean, if not for your face."

The air went out of Beth like she'd been struck in the chest. She tried to speak, couldn't, and instead stood up and left the room. As she left, she heard her mother bark, "_Candace!_"

"I - I meant, you know, makeup and - oh, jeez," Candy stammered in the background as Beth slammed her way through the back door and onto the porch.

She stood, breathing in the winter air and praying for patience, until she no longer felt like hurling something at her sister. Then she stood for longer, trying to see it from Candy's perspective. It was supposed to be a compliment; it was the same kind of dumb, short-sighted thing Candy had said when she was six. Candy's flustered backtracking as Beth had exited was proof; Beth had heard it clearly enough to know what had been meant.

But as ever, the only things that meant anything to Candy were looks and makeup - superficial things that Beth had no affinity for or understanding of, and that fact made Beth an easy target from someone like Candy, who lived and breathed those things. No matter how Candy had meant the comment, compliment or insult, it was still insulting because it placed all of Beth's worth as a person in the fact that she wasn't good enough at being beautiful.

She took another breath and waited to see if anyone would come outside to see her, to apologize or even offer her a hug.

No one did; she didn't expect them to, since her family just didn't do that. Instead, everyone let each other work it out for themselves, and rejoin the fold when everything was okay. So when she felt ready, she went back inside.

From there, things continued to deteriorate. She found it harder to speak to her sister after that, and Candy picked up on the tension and returned it; they gradually started ignoring each other. Kit, not used to her, tended to stay away from her; Eddie spent more of his time reading than talking; and although Beth could never really be mad at or uncomfortable with her father, he was at work most of the time.

Things didn't get really bad, though, until the question of Beth's job and future career path came back up. The worst part was that it was her mother who brought it up; Beth had thought, from her previous support, that her mother understood now and wasn't going to keep trying to control her life. She'd thought they had an understanding. But at breakfast one morning, Irene began casually, "Y'know, pet, I was just havin' a look through the newspaper this mornin' an' I noticed that the want-ads are chock _full_ o' jobs ye might find interestin'." She waited to see if Beth responded with enthusiasm, and then added meaningfully, "I circled a few I thought really reminded me'a you."

Beth nodded quietly, staring at her toast, trying to think of how to respond. She knew her mother meant well. Telling her mother to let Beth make her own decisions hadn't worked before, and it wouldn't work now; instead she managed a smile and a non-commital, "Sure. Thanks, Mom."

It seemed, though, that encouragement was the wrong course of action. Beth did take a look at the classifieds, just to see what kinds of things her mother thought she'd be "interested" in; they ranged from entry-level to high-level management in various fields of science, math, teaching, and even marketing. The only thing they had in common was that they were all local to her parents' house.

When her mother asked her about them later, Beth couldn't quite pretend that she wasn't annoyed. "All of those are too much of a commute for me, Mom," she said, feeling tired. "I don't have a car and even if I did it would be, like, two hours each way."

"Oh?" Irene looked innocent in a way that made Beth realize that her mother had known fully well about this "problem". "Well, y'know, ye could always relocate. Don't people do that all the time? An'," she said, ruffling Beth's hair affectionately, "I know a place where ye'd be welcome to stay, if findin' a new apartment takes a while."

"Well, we'll see," said Beth neutrally. She couldn't keep from adding, "But I moved to St. Canard so that I could work _there_. Moving back here defeats the whole purpose."

"Mmm," said Irene. That syllable, coming from Irene, was never a good one even though her facial expression was still perfectly friendly. "Seems t'me, though, that ye could work retail here just as easily as ye could in the big city."

Stung, Beth frowned. "I _told_ you, that's just until I figure out - Okay." She stopped herself, and took a deep breath. "You know, I think I'm going to just go take another look at these classifieds and see what stands out. Okay?"

Irene smiled. "That sounds like fun!"

It only got worse from there. The digs about Beth's retail job continued, the hints that she should move home came quicker and heavier, and finally over dinner one night Irene polished off half of a bottle of wine and started grilling Beth as to what, exactly, she intended to do with her Master's in Chemistry. "Ye can't possibly hope to sell hardware all yer life."

Beth laughed tensely. "Of course I don't, Mom," she said. "I'm at a crossroads right now and I needed something to pay the rent while I figure out where I'm going." This answer, her carefully prepared stock answer, was beginning to wear thin and she knew it. She was determined not to mention all the interviews she had been on and subsequently blown, and she had vowed not to answer any questions as to why she had left her graduate program without publishing a single paper. She was trying very hard to keep things light, but Beth was definitely starting to wish she could go back to St. Canard now, instead of waiting until the New Year as she'd originally intended.

"I'd just hate to see ye toss away all that education," said Irene, her brow furrowed.

"I'm not throwing anything away."

"_Years_ of it," Irene added, looking at Beth imploringly. Beth felt her neck going tense as she stared back.

Her father came to the rescue. "Well, here's to the New Year coming up, and new opportunities! Right, sweetie?" he said, raising his glass. His wife and daughter both looked at him as though they were surprised to see him there; then Irene nodded, raised her glass, and finished off her wine. Beth smiled as the rest of her family gave a toast as well, but she didn't feel like the smile was really her own.

It was Beth's night to do the dishes, and as she stood at the sink rinsing and drying, her mother entered under the pretense of doing some kind of cleaning job on the stove. They stood in a weighted silence, each busy at a different task, until Irene said lightly, "I do hope yer plannin' on tryin' a few new directions next year, pet."

Beth let the plate she was rinsing drop back into the water-filled sink, and counted to five. "Mom, I have plans. Let's leave it at that."

"It's only that I worry about ye, darlin'. I'm yer mum, I'm s'posed to."

"I _know_ that, but you said yourself that I'm an adult woman and can make my own decisions."

"Did I say that?" Irene mused, half to herself. Beth felt her blood boil, but held her tongue. "Well, Bethie, as true as that may be, it's hard f'r a parent to just stand by an' watch a child make the same mistakes all her-"

"Mom, will you just _drop it_?" Beth snapped. She slapped the water with the soaping brush she was using, and a few globs of soap hit her sweater. She brushed them away and left a soaking mark on the neck of her top, and grit her teeth together.

"I can't believe ye'd speak to me that way," Irene said, "in my own house, durin' the holidays, when I am only tryin' to help you sort out the mess yer life is becomin'!"

That was it. Beth realized that patience and a meaningless answer would never work with her mother, and she was tired of trying. "Could you just wait until I _ask_ you to help me? And did it occur to you that maybe I'm perfectly happy with my life, and that maybe what you just said was incredibly offensive?"

"Offensive? Why was it offensive?" Without waiting for an answer, Irene jumped back in with, "I'm yer mother. An' if ye won't think of yer own future perhaps y'could think of the sacrifices yer father an' I made for six years so that ye could get the best schoolin' in the country. After all that, this is just like a slap-"

"Don't throw that back at me!" Beth said, feeling short of breath. Her chest was tight, but she managed, "I _never_ asked to go there!"

"It was a GIFT-"

"AND I HATED IT!"

"How _dare_ you, Elizabeth! If you knew what yer father an' I-"

"You _knew_ I hated it! I told you over and over - I begged you not to send me and you wouldn't let me come home! It was like a _punishment_!"

"If we'd let ye come home an' just give up, ye'd have accomplished even less with yer life than y'have now!" cried Irene, her eyes flashing.

Beth screamed, "STOP IT!" and smashed a plate against the edge of the sink. In the silence that immediately followed, the crash seemed to echo. She stared at the sink and tried to catch her breath, unable to look at her mother; when she looked up at the door a moment later, her father stood there with alarm covering his features.

Irene smoothed her hair, and then patted her apron. "I s'pose this oven is clean enough f'r t'night," she said in a low voice, and disappeared from the kitchen.

* * *

The whole thing was handled in the usual way; which was to say, it was ignored. Beth waited until she felt calmer, then she finished the dishes and settled herself on the couch to read, expecting to be avoided by her mother for the rest of the night. It was a surprise then, when at nearly 11 pm Irene, wearing her housecoat, sat herself down on the edge of the couch and smiled tentatively.

Beth's stomach did a little flip, but she lowered her book and regarded her mother with an inquisitive expression.

"Hello pet. Can we talk?"

The question was so uncharacteristically restrained that Beth forgot to answer it at first. She managed to nod after a few seconds, and Irene cleared her throat and clasped her hands in her lap.

"Well. I... I just wanted t'say, I regret some of the things I said to ye earlier."

"Oh." Beth looked down at the book she had on her lap, and then added, "Okay."

"I mean... Elizabeth, I know I get angry a bit too easily, an' when that happens, my tongue has a tendency t'fly off on its own. This isn't the first time I've said somethin' I didn't mean. But one thing is true: I do worry about'cha, because I do love ye so much." She took Beth's hand in both of her own and held it, smiling warmly.

Beth didn't know what to say. Her mother, as a rule, did not apologize - at least, she rarely had in the past. This was so far outside her realm of experience that she found she was almost frozen... And the hurt was still there, still fresh. So her mother hadn't meant it... That didn't mean it hadn't been said. And if you said something, that was because you had thought it; and if you'd thought it, you must have at least wondered if it was true.

She squeezed her mother's hand in reassurance, and repeated, "Okay. Thanks."

"I am so glad yer home, pet," her mother said.

"Yeah."

Irene kissed Beth's hand, then let it go. "I was thinkin'... It's been so long since we had any real time t'gether, maybe we could stay up t'night an' talk? I've some ice cream saved in the freezer, an' if y'don't want to talk we could watch a movie on the telly -"

"You know Mom, actually, I'm really beat," Beth said, sitting forward suddenly. "I was just about to get to bed."

"Ah." Irene clasped her hands again, and nodded. "Well - I'll see you in the morn, then?"

"Right." Beth stood up, kissed her mother on her forehead, and headed up to her bedroom.

She went home the next morning.

* * *

Now

The lights of St. Canard were lively beacons, glimmering in the night air to show that civilization persisted despite the best efforts of its worst elements. Surrounded by the waters of the bay, St. Canard was an invitation to all: small-town yokels with dreams of making it big in the sparkling city, honesty-challenged hustlers who wanted nothing but to take the last dime of the city's inhabitants, and even the occasional megalomaniacal supervillain, spy, or TV executive.

Darkwing lowered his binoculars, his thoughts turning inward. The truth was that he was on a sort of autopilot... Certainly his crimefighting skills weren't suffering, or anything like that, but it was probably a good thing he hadn't had a big case to crack since the Liquidator's racket the previous month.

Having a cabal of women falling in love with you was, he'd always figured, just part and parcel of being a mysterious vigilante. He'd been used to the idea before it had even happened - and in large part it was really still sort of developing, but he was pretty certain that he was gaining popularity among the soccer mom set and that was something - and when Beth had fallen prey to his charms he hadn't paid it much mind. It was natural for a woman, especially one like Beth with a ho-hum kind of life, to be drawn to him and his line of work.

Until he'd gotten to know her and his perspective had shifted. First of all, Beth had wormed her way into his personal life - living on his street (okay, so he'd had something to do with that), babysitting his daughter (not exactly outside of his control either), coming over once a month for "Monopoly Night" - and eventually he'd realized that he hadn't minded.

But more than that, Beth wasn't sweet on him in the way he'd expected women would be, with the biggest difference being in the fact that she wasn't taken with Darkwing Duck. She was, and had been from the start, interested in Drake Mallard. He hadn't fully realized that for some time, but over time it became increasingly obvious. There were the little signs at first - she was one of the few people who knew his identity and who accidentally called him "Drake" while in costume, instead of some variation on "Darkwing" while he was out of it - then the fact that she genuinely preferred to spend time with him doing domestic things, whereas the exciting hero stuff actually seemed to freak her out more than anything else.

He hadn't expected that, actually. Aside from a few awkward relationships between the ages of 15 and 24, no women had ever paid much attention to Drake Mallard. Even Morgana had gone about it in reverse, drawn to the hero and then accepting the humdrum portion of his daily life; and on reflection, Darkwing felt that was appropriate. Even _he_ thought of himself as Darkwing much of the time; take away the hero, and there wasn't a whole person left to _be_ Drake Mallard. Beth, however, didn't seem to see that; she was instead obsessively devoted to a person who didn't quite exist except in her head.

The problem was... Well, the problem was in the fact that she _hadn't_ been starry-eyed over an unreachable hero fantasy. She had actually been in love with him, or close enough to it for it to hurt her a lot when he popped the bubble.

Darkwing hadn't really thought about it that much. He'd spent a lot of time letting his ego be petted, and as much as he'd denied it when Gosalyn accused him of playing up to her - as much as he really had not believed it himself at the time - in retrospect he saw that he had been doing just that.

But not intentionally. If he'd known she was _serious_, if he'd realized what he was doing, he'd have stopped. He wasn't a _cad_, after all. It had just never occurred to him that Beth would believe, even only a little, that they'd have a serious future together when it had been so... well, so OBVIOUS to him that it was never a possibility.

He shook his head, just slightly, and laughed to himself. She _still_, even now, drove him crazy sometimes... they were completely incompatible, and sometimes he wasn't even sure he could stay in a room with her for more than an hour without needing to shove something in his ears in an effort to maintain sanity. How was it that someone could make you so crazy and yet you could still be so fond of them, he wondered?

The odd fact was that, the longer she stayed away, the more difficult he found it to concentrate on his patrols. Well, maybe it didn't have anything to do with Beth... Maybe he was just bored. Probably he needed a new case, in spite of what he'd felt earlier - something to take his mind off of things. Too much free time and he started brooding, just because not being busy tended to make him a little melancholy. Sure - that was probably all it was.

Still, he'd feel better once she came back, if only for Launchpad's sake... and because he was getting sick of watering her plants. She had a ton of them, and he was constantly losing track of which ones he'd already done. When she came back he was going to have her make a chart in case this happened again. 


	11. Act IV, part 1

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

**Act IV, part I**

_A/N: Most of this has been done for a while; I'm just lazy about finishing things. :P Anyway - after last act I got a lot of feedback about Irene. This (finally!) shows another side of her... which is important to me. With everyone we meet, keep in mind that we're often only getting half of the story - Beth's half. There's more to everyone than what an outsider sees._

* * *

Beth took another sip of wine and checked the clock. Somehow it was even later than it had been the last time she'd thought to look! It was already closing in on midnight. She was surprised and amused, and as she sank back into the couch and turned up the volume on the TV show she was watching, she giggled a little and had a little more wine.

This, she had come to realize, was what she should have been doing all along. Now she understood why her mother was always saying she needed a glass of wine to relax! After only half of a glass she'd started feeling much less anxious, sort of mellow and floaty, and even though she still couldn't think of a way to solve her problems, they all seemed farther away somehow. Even her feelings for Drake seemed lessened - it would never have worked out between them, and she knew that, so really he'd done her a favour!

Out of concern that the calm peace she'd quickly obtained from the first glass of wine would fade just as quickly, Beth had dedicated herself to finishing off the bottle. Wonderfully, as she'd progressed, she'd just started feeling better and better. She had her whole life ahead of her, and whether she had a boyfriend during it or not made no real difference; she would still be Beth, and that was _great_.

This TV show she'd started watching was also great, though she suspected it was not the one that had been on when she'd started watching. It was a little hard to keep track of, because as far as she could tell, it was about nothing. Just a group of people going through life and complaining and being funny; she thought it was hilarious. No one was really like this. That was why the joke worked so well.

Plus, every so often, they said things that could have been written about her. Well, almost... a little stretch of the imagination could work. Two pretty women sat on a couch drinking coffee and talking about failed relationships; Beth felt like she was there. "C'mon," one said to the other, "you need closure. He was never the right guy for you, and you're better off without him."

"But he was such a great dresser!" the other woman answered in a sigh, and Beth broke up with laughter.

"Closure," she said to herself quietly, when she'd stopped laughing. "You are absolutely right, I need _closure_!" She kept watching to see what happened; the first woman ended up bullying her friend into calling the Great Dresser and telling him everything that was wrong with him. As much as the audience thought it was highly funny, and Beth got the joke, her mind was on another track now.

She would feel better if she spoke to Drake. It was the best idea she'd had all month long. Why was she moping around the house, when she could so easily just sit down and have a nice long talk about her feelings?? There was no doubt in her mind that Drake would appreciate the idea, and just now she felt like she could really do that. She stood and headed for the kitchen, picked the phone receiver off the wall, and dialed the number from memory.

It rang. It rang for a long time, and just as Beth was remembering that it was in fact midnight and if anyone was at home they were likely to be asleep, the line picked up.

"MWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!" came a burst of deep laughter, and an organ played the beginning of "Toccata in Fugue". Beth, startled, held the receiver away and stared at it in consternation before putting it back to her ear. A voice resumed: "You haff reached ze Castle! But no von eez home: ve are all out collecting ze bodies for ze latest experiment! You vill leaf message, und ve vill call back ven ve return!"

Belatedly Beth recognized the ridiculously-accented voice as Gosalyn's, and understood that it was the recorded answering machine message. She let out a breath in relief, and laughed a little.

In the background came another voice, cutting through the collection of wolf howls and screams that Gosalyn was layering the message with. "Gos, you didn't actually record that, did you? People are going to think this is some kind of nuthouse!"

There was a scuffling noise, and Gosalyn said irritably, "Aw, Dad, you're ruining it! Stop being such a wet blank-"

Then Beth winced as a loud beep sounded in her ear. It was a moment before she remembered to speak. "Oh! Um - is that... is this where I say my message? Wow, that was crazy. Well, anyway, this is just me - I mean, this is Beth, and I'm just calling to say - to say hi, I guess!" Now that she was doing this, she realized she hadn't thought at all about what she was going to say. Amazingly, she wasn't at all nervous, though the greeting message had thrown her off so much that she was speaking in the kind of stammer she usually couldn't turn off when she felt under pressure.

She tried to pull herself together and focus her mind. "So, how are you? I mean - that's a dumb question to ask an answering machine, huh? Sorry. Well, I just thought I'd let you know that I'm fine. Drake, I really am fine; I wanted to tell you that. For a long time I was hurting really badly, because I never told you that I loved you, and I never _got_ to tell you, because you already knew. But I guess really, the idea of you and me together, that's pretty weird, isn't it? I mean, we have hardly anything in common." She made her way over to the kitchen table and sat down, making herself comfortable. "Like, to start with, you're just not a good listener at all, and I don't think I could be with someone who's like that. Not because I want to talk all the time or anything, actually, but it is really kind of mean when I _am_ talking and you're obviously not listening. I mean, I listen to you. It's just common courtesy."

She stopped herself; this wasn't why she had called. "Okay, but this isn't why I called. I wanted to tell you that I'm fine now, that's the real reason... I don't need you to love me for me to feel good about myself! I am _great_, Drake Mallard, and tonight I am going to accept that, and if you don't you can just... you can just..."

There was another beep, this one longer than the first. Beth jumped, then said "Hello?" just as the phone clicked into a mute state. After another pair of clicks, she got a dial tone. It dawned on her that she'd used up the entire message tape.

Oh, well; she'd said what she'd wanted to say - or she was pretty sure she had, at least - and if that show was still on, she was very interested in finding out what happened with the well-dressed ex-boyfriend. Maybe he came crawling back.

* * *

Beth had a boyfriend.

That was the defining point of her life at this moment. The day before, she had not had a boyfriend, and now she had one. She had told her parents, and her coworkers, and her old teachers; she'd even found the room all her old schoolmates from Pinny's were having their classes in, and told _them_. Nicola had looked like she was going to have a heart attack from the surprise.

Beth now decided it was time to tell Candy. She had saved it for last, because she knew this would be the most satisfying conversation of all. Finding Candy sitting by the pool, Beth smiled smugly and said, "I have a boyfriend now. You're not the only one anymore."

Candy looked up, surprised. "Really? Who?"

In a moment of shock, which very nearly led to a moment of outright panic, Beth couldn't remember who her new boyfriend was. She knew she _had_ one, but beyond that, the details were fuzzy. She dug around in her head and came up with his name. "Launchpad. You don't know him, but his name is Launchpad, and he loves me."

"Oh," said Candy. She didn't even pretend to care. "If he loves you so much, where is he?"

"Well, I... I told him I needed some space," said Beth defensively. This wasn't going the way she had expected. In retrospect, she wasn't sure why she had told him that - or when, exactly.

"I think you're making this up, Bessie," said Candy, shaking her head with a sad expression on her face, as if her sister's dishonesty hurt her personally.

"I am NOT!" Beth felt furious suddenly. "I'll go get him! He's just two houses down from here!"

But when she got to Launchpad's house, he wasn't there. She looked in every room, and he was gone, without even a note to tell her when he'd be back. With a sinking feeling, she realized that he was not coming back, and that she wouldn't see him again.

* * *

She awoke from the dream - for it was, after all, a dream, though it took her several long moments to comprehend that - feeling uncomfortable and unhappy. The feeling of being deserted by Launchpad mingled with a general sense of unease at the idea of dating him. That dream almost felt worse than the ones she'd had about Drake.

The clock next to her bed was blurry, and even with her glasses on she had to pick it up and peer closely at its face for some time before she could figure out what time it was. Not quite 6 am; the morning was only just beginning to dawn, and the room had a thick grey look to it, as though the early light was trying to disguise itself as it seeped in through the windows.

Her head felt heavy and ugly. Beth squinted, trying to clear it, and felt discomfort spread through her whole body. Best to go back to sleep, and quickly, before she woke up any further than she already had.

She would never, she promised herself sincerely, EVER drink wine again. Or any alcohol. Or... possibly anything at all, ever again. She couldn't even remember much past midnight, like what time she had gone to bed, or how she'd gotten herself upstairs, or... or...

Her stomach did a horrible twist inside of her as she sat up straight and dashed downstairs, making for the phone at top speed.

It rang three times while Beth prayed that she'd dreamed the whole phone message. That wasn't totally impossible; she'd been watching that television show, maybe she'd gotten ideas and then fallen asleep and dreamed about leaving an empowering message on Drake's answering machine. Except that the empowering message was horribly, horribly humiliating, and she hoped beyond hope that it _had_ been a dream.

There was a faint click, and then a voice boomed "MWAAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" as an organ started to play "Toccata in Fugue".

Beth groaned, hung up, and hit redial on the phone pad. There was no way she could have coincidentally invented that in a dream. She had to hang up and dial a third time before someone finally answered, and a very groggy voice slurred, "H'lo?"

She wasn't completely sure who it was, but it didn't sound like Drake, so she just crossed her fingers and said, "Launchpad?"

"Huh?"

That sounded more like him. She felt like she could breathe a little bit easier. "I'm sorry, I know it's early, but this is urgent and I really need your help, I need you to do me a HUGE favour but first you have to answer a question for me, okay?" She waited for an answer. The moments dragged on, and although her head was throbbing angrily at her, Beth was pretty sure the problem wasn't on her end. "Launchpad?" she tried again.

"...H'lo?"

"Um - are you awake?"

"Yeah, I think so." There was no sense of recognition in his voice.

"Okay. I need you to do two things for me, this is really really important or I swear I wouldn't have called so early."

Sounding confused and more than a little worried, he said, "Beth?"

She felt more frustrated than anything. "Yes. It's me. I-"

"Is everything okay? Are you okay?" Well, he sounded more alert now than he had a moment before. Beth tried to thank heaven for small mercies, but her head was pounding and she was still bubbling over with anxiety.

"I'm fine. I mean I'm not fine but it's not - I'm not hurt. Yet. Um, would - do you know if, um, did you guys check the phone messages since last night?"

She could nearly see him looking puzzled. "Uh, ya mean since we got in? Probably not... DW never checks the messages, he just goes to bed."

Her stomach unknotted, and she had to put an arm on the table to steady herself, she was so relieved. "Oh, thank heaven. Look, I need you to do me a gigantic favour."

* * *

By the time he returned to the phone, Launchpad sounded a little bit more aware of things. "Okay, I got it," he said.

"You erased it?" she asked, confused by his terminology.

"Well, no. I don't know how to do that without playin' it, so I just took the message tape out."

"Wasn't there- wasn't there a button that said 'erase'? That's what mine has..."

"Oh," Launchpad said, with a note of enlightenment in his voice. "I never looked for that."

Beth shook her head; what mattered was that, one way or another, the message could not be played. "Well, it doesn't matter. And you're sure that it hadn't been checked yet?"

"Yeah, the light was still blinkin'."

Deeply relieved, Beth sank back against the kitchen wall and let herself breathe again. Her legs no longer seemed to want to support her. All the adrenalin was draining out of her, leaving her feeling exhausted and achy. Still, she felt a powerful sort of happiness. "Oh, thank you. Thank you so much."

"This must've been some message," Launchpad said, chuckling.

She turned pink. "I, um, I guess." She didn't really want to go down this road this morning; she didn't fully remember everything she'd said, but she was pretty sure that a confession of love was on there, along with a general sort of 'you-don't-know-what-you're-missing' message figuring pretty strongly. It wasn't something she wanted anyone to know about. Plus, the fog in her head just wouldn't clear out, and it was leaving her feeling both drained and irritated. "I'd... I'd really rather not talk about this right now," she added hopefully.

"Aw, don't I get a reward for helpin' you out?" he asked teasingly.

Beth didn't see the humour in the situation. "Maybe," she said tightly, "but I just want to forget all about this, okay?"

"Okay," he said, relenting. "Whaddaya want me to do with the tape?"

"I don't know. Burn it," she said, rubbing at her forehead with the palm of her hand. Her head was full of mist and there was a persistant throb developing on one side of her head that she was sure would be with her all day.

"Wow," Launchpad said, apparently surprised at the strength of her statement. He laughed again, perfectly at ease, and said, "Now I wanna hear it."

"What? No. That's not funny." She knew he was joking - of _course_ he was joking, this was _Launchpad_ - but it hit too close to home. And - a little voice at the back of her mind insisted on asking her, what if he DID listen to it? He had the tape, she didn't, and he hadn't erased it. He could do whatever he wanted with it. He could play it whenever he wanted and there was nothing she could do about it. Her head continued to throb at her angrily. "Don't, okay? Please."

"I dunno, now I'm all curious," he said.

Then Beth realized she was being laughed at, just the way everyone laughed at her all the time, and her head was full of buzzing and stuffed with cotton that had been soaked in something boiling hot and toxic. She got to her feet without realizing it, and before she could start crying she yelled, "I said _don't_! Why, why would you do it when I said not to?! Why do you think this is FUNNY?!"

"Whoa - hang on a sec-"

"No, no, don't turn it around on me! Don't try to make me think I'm overreacting or crazy or something! I said no and you laughed, and, and what kind of friend does that? And you thought it was funny and everyone's always laughing at me, and -" Her voice broke, but she forged angrily on, "I don't understand why you're being so _mean_ and you won't just LISTEN! I thought I could TRUST you!"

She realized she was shouting into the phone only when she heard his voice, much quieter in comparison. "Beth, calm down, okay?"

"Don't SAY that! Just - just leave me alone!" And she slammed the phone onto the receiver, nearly hard enough to break it - which had been her unacknowledged intention - and then stared at it for a number of seconds with a feeling of growing horror. And then she started to cry.

* * *

Unlike his baby sister, Edgar did not need much prodding to get up and ready for school each morning. While their mother took about ten minutes talking and prodding Kit awake, Edgar got himself up, showered, and dressed between 6:00 and 6:14 am, most days. At this point, while Kit was being herded into the bathroom to wash the sleep out of her eyes, he went downstairs, retrieved the morning newspaper, and then made his way to the kitchen and had a bowl of cereal to jumpstart his system before his mother got the main breakfast started. This morning the routine went slightly differently when he found his sister Beth huddling in the corner sobbing.

Edgar froze, at a complete loss. He looked around the room, though he didn't know what he was looking for, then took a step backwards and went to find his mother.

Less than two minutes later, Irene touched Beth gently on her shoulder. "Darlin'. Are ye hurt? What is it?"

Beth lifted her head slightly, then pulled away, wiping furiously at her eyes and shaking her head "no".

"Somethin' happened?" Irene tried again. She reached for her daughter, but Beth continued to pull back.

"Nuh-nothing," Beth said in a thick stammer. Irene frowned.

"Now don't do that, me-darlin'," she said softly, holding Beth's hand firmly in her own. "Ye can't push me away every time. I'm here now an' I'm not goin' away."

Beth looked at her with liquid eyes, as if trying to gauge the situation, and fresh tears started down her cheeks. With a muffled sob she stopped pulling away, and Irene gathered her into her arms and held her, rocking her in a way she hadn't done since Beth had been in preschool.

After several minutes, when Beth's shudders had died down a little bit, Irene drew back. She pushed hair out of Beth's tear-stained face and smiled at her tenderly. "Pet, I just need t'get breakfast started fer yer Dad an' the kids. Head on upstairs t'yer room an' wait for me. I'll be five minutes at the most; wet a washcloth and cool yer face down, an' just relax." She kissed her daughter on the forehead, and pulled her to her feet. "Go now. I'll be right there." Sniffling, Beth left without a word. Irene hoped she was following the directions she'd been given.

She put water on to boil, got the coffee started, and fried six eggs for her husband and two youngest children. The toast would take too long, so she set out a stack of fresh bread next to the toaster, with butter and jam at the ready, and added quick-cook oats to the water before stirring in some brown sugar and removing it from heat. Then she took out bowls and set the table, and finally fled up the stairs.

After a quick knock on the door to Beth's room, she let herself in and found her daughter sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up, her forehead pressed against them. "Uncurl, pet," she said. "Ye should relax."

Beth sighed, and shook her head against her knees. "'M fine," she said in a muffled voice.

Irene produced a handkerchief and gave it to her daughter, who lifted her head enough to use it loudly before folding it repeatedly into a tiny, perfect square. Sitting on the bed next to Beth, Irene said, "D'ye want to talk about it?"

"Nnn." Beth shook her head again, looking miserable underneath her bangs. She stared fixedly at the handkerchief that she couldn't seem to stop fiddling with.

"That's fine," said Irene with a nod. "Ye don't have to tell me anythin' personal. Just remember though, pet, I'm here t'listen any time yer ready. An' until then, I'm here fer anythin' else y'need."

They sat in silence for long minutes, and Irene spent most of it resisting the incredibly strong urge to give Beth a speech on developing a positive attitude, and confronting her worries enough to talk about them and conquer them. Years of experience had taught her - too late, it seemed many times - that Beth could not be pushed into anything. For all her introversion and her willingness to please, Irene's middle daughter had a will like iron when it came to dealing with her family. Irene was deeply proud of this, even when it caused them to butt heads - as they so frequently did. If only she'd understood her daughter sooner...

She banished all those thoughts for the time being. Right now her daughter needed her. Right now was about Beth.

"I blew it, Mom," Beth said finally, in a hoarse mumble. She had set her cheek against her left knee, in a folded position that Irene could only dream of managing to get into. "I did something awful."

"It can't be that bad, pet. Very few t'ings are _that_ awful."

Beth gave a great, wet sniffle - though her eyes seemed to finally be dry - and said, "This is." She lifted her head slightly. "I got mad at someone - someone who's only been wonderful to me ever since we met - and I said some really terrible things. They just wanted to help me, and I..." Her voice got higher and tighter, and trailed off, as she started to cry again.

"Oh, sweetheart," said Irene, pulling her daughter into her arms again. Beth came willingly this time.

Against her mother's shirt, Beth squeaked tearfully, "I'm a horrible person!"

"No," said Irene, and she made shushing noises and rubbed Beth's back for another full round of tears, while inwardly she reflected on Beth's temper. She was an even mix of both her parents: like her father, she was very patient, very slow to anger. She could suffer through nearly as many trials as Job himself. But when she did finally get angry, it was explosive; Beth had inherited her mother's temper, and Irene knew full well how hard it was to control and how easy it was to say things you didn't mean, things you deeply regretted later.

"We all make mistakes," said Irene gently. She ran her fingers softly through Beth's hair. "Those who love us understand, an' they'll always fergive us if we ask fer it."

"Not for me," Beth moaned. "It doesn't work that way for me. Nobody ever comes back."

"I do. An' I always will, no matter what we say ta one another." Beth, sniffling in apparent surprise, lifted her head and looked into her mother's eyes. Irene smiled, and after a moment Beth did too; regardless, her eyes filled with tears again, and she lowered her head slowly back to her mother's shoulder. "Oh, pet," Irene said with a sigh, rubbing Beth's back. "I wish ye did'na have to go through all this."

"Yeah," said Beth, her voice gravelly. She laughed, in that disconcerting habit she had of couching her own negativity in a pretense of humour, and sniffled again.

They sat for some time in silence, and although Irene relished the time spent being close to her daughter, she had to fight down an increasingly hot curiosity regarding this "someone" Beth had referred to. She knew so little about Beth these days that it was impossible for her to know if this tied into why Beth had suddenly asked to come home; the "someone" could be anyone, from a coworker to a boyfriend. The fact that Beth had carefully avoided mentioning gender made Irene certain that the person in question was a man; beyond that, she had nothing but her own imagination, which was quite rich in its own right.

Well, it wasn't the time to wonder about such things. If she could cheer Beth up, perhaps her daughter would offer up more information, but Irene was on ground that was just too shaky right now to risk asking anything. Instead she lifted Beth's face up to her own and wiped at her daughter's eyes with a corner of the bedspread. "Darlin'," she said, "y'need to get out o' the house an' take yer mind offa these t'ings."

Beth sank backwards, shaking her head. "I really don't feel like it, Mom."

"Mopin's not gettin' ye anywhere, Bethie. C'mon, Mum knows best; it's been ferever since we really got t'talk, why not go on out an' have a day? Just the two of us? Candy's workin' th' mornin' shift today an' yer appointment's not 'til this afternoon, so we can go have some fun." She was really asking, not only for Beth's sake, but for her own. It wasn't in Irene's character to reveal the kind of vulnerability that would be evident by admitting that she missed her daughter and wanted her company; but the idea of protecting one of her chicks gave her an excuse to insist, and she wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

Eyes downcast, still looking reluctant, Beth shrugged. "I don't know. It depends, what would we do? I don't want to see a movie or anything."

"Well..." Movies weren't what Irene had had in mind, either; she wanted face time. "_I_ know. Every so often Candy an' I step out t'gether an' get our hair an' nails done, then go shoppin'. We could..." She trailed off; the look of distaste on Beth's face was plain. "I s'pose that's a 'no' t'that idea." Beth shrugged again, and Irene's spirits began to sink. This wasn't going to work; as determined as she may have been, Beth was the one member of their family whose will could outweigh her own. If she was determined to be miserable and alone, Irene barely had a fighting chance against it.

So, she backed down, nursing a stinging blow to her heart. "Well. P'raps ye can think on it, an' let me know later what ye'd like. I'll be around all day, y'know." She started from the room, but stopped when Beth called after her.

"Mom?" When Irene turned around, Beth asked hopefully, "I... I might like to go to the Botanical Gardens..."

"Whatever ye want, darlin'!" Irene said. She gave a sigh of relief, and left her daughter to get dressed. 


	12. Act IV, part 2

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

**Act IV, part II**

_A/N: Oh man, for some reason this is taking me forever this time around. I wanted to have this whole act finished by the end of October. :P The stuff with Dr. Mortimer this chapter was written last b/c that was the hardest for some reason. Thank you to Amanda Rohrssen for looking at the first bit of this chapter, which was all I sent her, because I'm lazy; I'd have massively benefitted from sending her more but this took so long to finish that I just wanted to get it out there. SO impatient. :P I hope nothing in here is seriously redundant, but if it is, I guess I could replace the content. Enjoy!_

* * *

In the usual vein of late September, the days went back and forth between mild, and clinging to the feel of summer - sometimes within a span of a few hours. Today the forecast promised mild, however, and Beth had an excuse to dig out her "comfort" turtleneck sweater and bury herself in it. She'd had it for long enough now that the neck no longer clung the way it had before; it was stretched beyond the point of bounceback. That didn't matter to her, though, since just the feel of the well-worn fabric was enough to make her feel slightly more at ease.

She didn't feel well, even at the Botanical Gardens, and had a feeling that she would have been better off going back to sleep for a while. After all, she'd been up late and awoken early - and not under the best set of circumstances. On the other hand, she knew deep down that her mother was right: she needed to get out of the house.

And... there was more than just that. She would only admit it to herself, but it was nice to be coddled and comforted by her mother. A cynical part of her wouldn't let her enjoy it, of course. There was a voice in her head that kept telling her that Irene would ruin it somehow, turn it around and blame it all on Beth (it had been a shock, almost, that this had NOT been the case earlier).

It was for this reason that Beth couldn't find much to say as they walked through the Gardens late that morning. Her mother feigned a moderate interest in the plants, periodically asking Beth for the names of something particularly pretty or odd-looking, and Beth provided them almost without thinking. The plants relaxed her almost as much as her turtleneck did, and yet she still kept mentally replaying her disastrous conversation ("conversation" - that really was not the word for it) with Launchpad from that morning. She couldn't help wondering from time to time just how badly she'd be feeling if she _didn't_ have any calming distractions.

She could almost sense her mother vibrating with curiosity about the conversation, what had been said, by whom, and how... And it was so tempting to give in and spill it to her mother. Even her father had said that the whole thing sounded more up Irene's alley; Irene, as a matter of fact, loved situations like these. She was never happier than when she was managing something for someone, and a messy love triangle was about as juicy as things got.

But it was so complicated, and would take forever just to put into context... And the idea of handing it all over to her mother rubbed her the wrong way anyway. Still, there were two or three times when she found herself opening her mouth and beginning a sentence to introduce the topic. She'd redirected her comments three or four times already before they settled onto a bench inside of a tropical plant enclosure, and Irene sighed as she rested her feet and looked around.

"It's lovely in here, hm?" she asked cheerfully.

The area, enclosed in glass and kept warmer than the outside, was full of brightly-coloured flowers and vines and had landscaping that included waterfalls; the constant sound of trickling water was another relaxing element. Beth nodded.

"What's that one, d'ye know? It's beautiful." She pointed to Beth's left.

After a moment, Beth recognized the flowering vine that was under scrutiny. "It's a Passiflora caerulea," she answered, and realized that the humidity was starting to fog up her glasses. She took them off and wiped at them, adding, "It's from Brazil, called the Blue Passion Flower."

"Just lovely," Irene said again, nodding. "I do like these tropical flowers. I s'pose it must be hard t'keep 'em alive in winter, though."

"Most don't bloom year-round, but yeah, you have to work at it. Some are hardier than others, though. I have a variety at home called a Tropical Blue Blossom that's..." She trailed off, and realized that she hadn't been home in over a month; her plants, including Sheila the Tropic Blue, were certainly dead by now. Wincing, she put her face in her hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Beth said, irritated with herself, and even more so because she also felt ridiculously sad over the loss. "It's just - I just realized I left all my plants at home and they're all dead. This day is just a real winner for me all over." She heaved a huge sigh and rubbed at her eyes.

Beside her on the bench, her mother remained silent for a few moments. When she spoke, it was a surprise. "Ah, pet. I really let ye down, din't I?"

"Huh? I mean - what?" Beth sat up slightly and put her glasses back on. Her mother was sitting still, staring at her hands as they sat folded in her lap.

"Ye've always been a worrier," said Irene. Before Beth could quite begin to bristle indignantly, her mother went on, "When ye were small I t'ought that the best way t'get ye past that worry was to show ye how strong y'are. Just sorta - toss y'into the fray." She looked at her daughter for a moment, smiling, and Beth was shocked and a little embarrassed to see tears in Irene's eyes before her mother looked back down at her lap. "I... I've only wanted ye t'be happy, Bethie. But I've made a lotta mistakes in tryin' t'get ye there."

"No... No, Mom, really," Beth said lamely. "You weren't... No, you've been... great."

Irene ignored her, which was probably for the best. "It's so easy t'see all the t'ings ye've done wrong when yer lookin' back, when ye can't do anythin' to fix 'em." She sighed and lifted her head to look around the greenhouse, but kept speaking. "I t'ought I was makin' sacrifices, like any mother should. I told m'self, Irene, ye've gotta be strong an' stick wit' this or else Bethie will t'ink it's okay to quit when t'ings get hard."

"You - did fine on that, Mom," said Beth. She was beginning to feel helpless; her mother was really upset, and this was something that just didn't happen. How could she possibly put things right, or cheer her mother up, when she didn't even understand what was going on? "I mean, I... I never quit. Unless it's the right thing to do," she added quickly, remembering her far-too-long stay at Bindler's Hardware. "Or... or if I really, really have to for other reasons, or-" She was starting to babble, but that was okay, because Irene cut her off again.

"Oh, pet." Irene patted her hand. "I know, darlin'. I know how strong y'are. I did all I could to bring that out in you... Even when I..." She trailed off, then turned her face away from Beth and said in an odd voice, "That was the worst day o'my life, the day you left."

_Which day?_ Beth wondered; she'd left over and over, it seemed. She said nothing, which turned out to be the right move.

"So small, ye were, an' I had meself convinced ye'd be happy once ye got to that old school - that I was sendin' ye to the place ye belonged, an' I just had t'get ye there. When ye started in to cryin' I t'ought me heart would break... I t'ought, if I look at her, I'm gonna take her in me arms an' keep her here, an' it'll all be for nothin'."

"Oh, Mom," Beth breathed. Tears burned at the back of her eyes as well, as she finally understood.

With a slight sniffle, Irene said, "I just told meself that ye couldn't see me cry - an' the next thing I knew the bus was gone, an' I'd lost sight of ye without even sayin' goodbye..." She sniffled again, then turned back to her daughter, and though her eyes were slightly red, her face was under control. "I was a silly woman. An' I kept makin' the same mistakes. I pushed an' pushed atcha, tryin' t'get ya out into the world, an' finally I pushed so hard that ye didn't wanna come back."

It was true, but Beth couldn't say so. She stared at her lap instead, trying to find words; it occurred to her that maybe this was a time when she didn't need to speak, but silences never felt right to her. "I... always wondered about that," she said finally. "The morning I left. Why you stood and..." Her voice caught as the old wound stung again. "Well. I mean it's in the past now, right?"

"Aye, it is," said Irene thickly. She smiled and took Beth's hand, giving it a squeeze. "An' for all my foolishness, here ye are: brilliant, bold and beautiful. An' I'm so proud of ye."

The compliment made Beth blush uncomfortably, and she snorted slightly. "Come on, Mom."

Irene cocked her head sadly. "But after all that, yer not happy, are ye?"

The two women sat in silence for a number of seconds, while Beth decided if she should answer or not; although it was clear this time that she should, she found herself suddenly less willing than before. She swallowed - there was still a lump in her throat, but she managed to speak around it. "Sometimes. Just not always." She waited for her mother to ask about this answer, but no question was forthcoming. When she looked up, her mother was still holding her hand, but her gaze was on the Blue Passion Flower and its vines, curling around the trees before them.

* * *

"Well, how has your week been so far?" asked Dr. Mortimer.

Beth had spent a while that day, off and on, trying to figure out how she was going to answer that question. She'd had a few ideas but hadn't committed to anything, and now that she was here she wasn't sure what to say. She shrugged. "Um, not great," she said, staring at her hands. She wanted to talk about it. She was desperate to have someone to talk with, but her problems seemed to have settled deep inside her without any intention of coming out.

The worst part was that she knew the one person she could have told these things to was someone she would likely never speak to again. This realization didn't make it any easier for her to open up to Dr. Mortimer, either.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Never a judgment, never an expression of sympathy; somehow, Beth found, his offer for her to just share her feelings felt more genuine than a thin expression of concern could have managed.

"I... I don't know," she said. She did, so strongly. She had no idea where to start. "It's a long..." Beth cut herself off, and trailed into silence. She thought she would pick the sentence up again, but instead the dead thought just sat there in the middle of the room.

Finally, Dr. Mortimer said, "You know that we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

She nodded. "I think maybe... in a little while."

"Whenever you like, Beth." He smiled.

"Yeah." She wanted to try to force herself to speak, but it would have been so confused, so jumbled... Instead, she breathed in deeply, and started again. "I had a talk with my mother today, though."

"Oh! How did that go?"

It felt almost humiliating, in a way, to admit that he'd been right about her needing to talk to her mother. She ignored that; it wasn't as if she'd literally followed his advice. "Pretty well, actually. We talked, and she... she kind of opened up and she told me that she'd... she said she'd made mistakes. I guess she was kind of saying sorry for some of the things I told you about before."

"How do you feel now?" he asked.

She hesitated, thinking of her mother sitting patiently out in the waiting room, and of her attempt to reach out today. "You know... I wish I could say that it made all the pain go away." Her voice trembled. "It should have made everything better, right? I mean, I sort of _knew_ most of it anyway - I knew she loved me, even though I used to wonder when I was a kid, and... and for her to _tell_ me that she knew she was at fault was just... I never thought I'd hear my mother saying that. But..."

"But the memories still hurt?"

"Yes." _A lot,_ she realized; her mother's words had brought back full force the power of that day she'd been sent to school, and for a moment she had to fight back tears. It hadn't changed the past, it had only given her a new perspective on it. "It's funny, I mean, when I think about the things she spoke of - it's like I have two sets of memories, almost. I understand her version of them now, but I still see them happening the way I used to, and I can't tell which version is real." She didn't get an answer to this, and hadn't really expected to; she knew for herself that neither version was quite real, or quite false. But knowing didn't enable her to pick which version she could believe in, or help her to dispel the one she'd seen for most of her life. "I... I want to forgive her," she said quietly. "But I don't know if I can."

"It takes time," said Dr. Mortimer. "Emotions don't come with magic switches that can be set to the right settings at the right times."

_Tell me about it,_ thought Beth, and had to stifle a quick laugh. "I guess not." She sniffed, although she'd managed to conquer the tears this time, and asked, "Am I... a bad daughter? I mean - nobody else in my family has these problems with my Mom. Candy and Mom get along like best friends, and... I just kind of have to wonder... what's wrong with _me_?"

"Beth, there is NOTHING wrong with you. You and your mother had an important dialogue today, and it seems like it was the first in a long time." Beth nodded, and Dr. Mortimer went on, "You and your mother may both love one another deeply, but you've indicated that you don't feel like she listens to you. From other things you've said, it sounds like you've given up on trying to tell her anything as a result of that feeling. Does that sound right to you?"

She nodded again. "I guess so, actually. I hadn't thought of it, but yeah."

"No relationship can flourish that way. If your mother seems willing to listen, now may be the time to start opening up again, if you want to open the roads to communication with her. If you want some help, I'd be glad to try to mediate."

Like the last time he'd offered, Beth found the idea a little alarming and in general, almost amusing. She shook her head, trying not to grin at the thought. "Well, maybe. I mean, I'm going to be going home soon anyway, so..." She paused, realizing that until she'd spoken the words, she hadn't realized that she'd intended to do so.

She waited to see if Dr. Mortimer would respond to that statement. There was a pause, as he apparently waited to see what more she would say. Then, he let it pass and instead said, "Well, Beth, on the list you gave me you listed 'people' as your third biggest regret. Would you like to talk about that at all today?"

Beth winced. "Um, you know, when you say 'regrets'..." She picked at the arm of the chair she was in, self-consciously. "The thing is, when I made that list, I was... I didn't put any *thought* into it, you know? So when I wrote those things down... they're not really *regrets*."

"I see," said Dr. Mortimer. He leaned forward slightly and rested his chin on his hand, smiling again. "So you just made things up?"

"Well - no..."

"Was there any significance at all to your choice of 'people' on this list?"

"Um..." Beth inclined her head slightly. "Well, I mean, I... I don't have a great _relationship_ with most people... if that's what you mean."

"I don't mean anything. I'm just curious as to why you picked that particular word." He was still entirely friendly, so Beth wondered why she felt slightly cornered.

"I don't know! All I'm saying is, 'people' aren't things I regret, I mean, maybe my relationships with people have been a source of stress to me in the past, or maybe-" Maybe, she acknowledged, it tied in quite closely to what she was currently dealing with. "I don't know," she said again.

"Ahhh, I understand what you mean. It's a matter of terminology." He sat back up, nodding. "Well, as always, we certainly don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. If there's something else on your mind, that's fine, or if you don't want to talk at all..."

Beth thought, then sighed loudly. "We can talk about that."

Dr. Mortimer nodded. He picked his pen up, but didn't write anything. "I would be interested in knowing what 'people' might mean, exactly, if you feel you can explain that."

"Well, it's not that I don't _like_ people, if you're wondering that. It's... it's more like people don't like _me_, and that's the problem."

"Your limited number of friendships in the past, you mean?"

That was an interesting and diplomatic way of putting it, Beth felt. "Yeah. The fact that I haven't had a lot of friends, and - just, just everything. My relationships are always one-sided, and..." It really was true, she recognized finally. ALL her relationships were one-sided, even the ones where she didn't fall stupidly and helplessly in love with someone; instead, they did it for _her_. The ONE time in her life... She wilted a little bit. "I don't know, there have been times in my life that I've felt like I should just move away to someplace remote. Somewhere where I won't have to deal with other people and make them put up with me."

"Wouldn't you be lonely?"

"Maybe, but the choice would be out of my hands, so... It just seems like it would be easier for everyone."

Dr. Mortimer nodded solemnly. He made a little note on his pad of paper, which Beth instantly wanted to ask him about, and then asked, "We never spoke too much about your school years the first time you and I were meeting. You said now that you had only the one friendship at that school, early on, and that was it?"

"Um... _mostly_," said Beth delicately. Dr. Mortimer raised an eyebrow, and so she decided she might as well go on. "It's just... it got complicated.

"After Nicola and I stopped talking, I got to this point with my family where things were just really bad, and I didn't want to go home anymore. And, I don't know, maybe my Mom felt the same way or something but the next year - when I was ten - I didn't come home more than twice. Just for Christmas and then for the summer. Same thing the next year, just before I turned twelve. I told everyone that I was working on these really major projects and I needed the time there, and I just stayed over at the school on the smaller holidays. I would have stayed there for Christmas if I could have, but Mom didn't like that - we actually fought about it a little bit, but she won, because..." Beth trailed off, thinking again about her mother in the waiting room, then about her mother crying at the Botanical Garden. "Well, I guess maybe she figured out after a while that I had more of a choice about staying or going home than I was letting on, and... You know, that maybe she'd made a mistake somewhere. But that's not what I wanted to talk about, anyway."

* * *

March, 1979

In the second half of the school year, students were paired or teamed for cooperation projects. The vague name allowed the students to choose whatever curriculum they wanted to "cooperate" on, be it science, art, mathematics, or another. Beth hadn't expected to be chosen for a group, but she found herself paired - voluntarily, no less - by Noah Webber.

Beth knew all about Noah, from having observed him back in the days of the Spy Club; he was one year older than her, and was a huge "chem nerd" (as the entire chemistry department liked to refer to themselves); he was tall and had red hair and braces, though no glasses; he played the cello, liked historical biographies, and disliked fiction as a rule. Beth was stunned to be picked as his partner, because he was one of the most popular boys at Pinny's. He'd had a couple of girlfriends and was one of the students to have his own table in the cafeteria. Beth was well aware that the invitation to pair with him was motivated entirely by academic longing, since Beth was among the higher-ranking "chem nerds" in the school, herself. But after months of adjusting to her status as a pariah in the school, having a popular boy even acknowledge her existence was a shock to her system. Nervously, she'd agreed to work with him, and so for the past two months they'd spent several hours together each day, including weekends.

It had only taken Beth about two weeks to fall in love with him.

It was the first time she'd felt this way about anyone. She quickly began to collect details about him to complement the older ones she'd gathered earlier. He had a favourite jacket he wore almost every day. He had a crinkle in his cheek when he smiled; he got excited over phosphates. He liked graphs and loved to chart things. Beth found that making graphs and charts was a satisfying way to spend a weekend, especially if it was done with Noah.

She never, not once, let herself believe that they were friends. It was an academic relationship, no more, and that was enough for her; it seemed to be enough for her just to stand close to him and breathe the same air, just to be able to exist in the same room that Noah existed in. Noah never gave any reason that she should hope otherwise; although he was always polite, and even became enthusiastic when their project uncovered interesting results, he never asked her personal questions, never invited her to join him for lunch, never complimented her directly. She was held at arm's length, and she gladly worshipped the length of that arm.

At meals, she watched his table, watched him preside over it like a prince. She hoped he didn't see her staring, but given how she seemed to be almost invisible to him much of the time, she was fairly confident he didn't notice. Beth was enchanted by his smile, by the physicality of his movements. She propped her cheek on her hand and lost track of time watching Noah jostle his friends, poking his elbow into their sides and grinning.

When someone sat down at her table, she jumped. "Oh!"

The girl looked at her, then up and down the empty table. Beth's tables were usually empty, provided she could arrive early enough to snag one, so she often brought a book and got to her meals five minutes before they started. "Is this table free?" asked the girl. Beth didn't recognize her, and it seemed the girl didn't know Beth either; she was probably a transfer.

"Sure!" said Beth, and the girl sat down and started digging into her lunch. Beth tore her attention away from Noah Webber et al, and watched the girl. She had a sandwich and fruit, but no milk. "Are you lactose intolerant?" Beth asked.

The girl looked up, surprised. "No... I just don't drink milk except at breakfast."

"Oh. I just wondered because my parents always told me to have milk with every meal, you know, for the calcium, so I never even think about what time of day to have it, I just drink it. Um, not that I'm saying YOU should do that! It's just, that's why I asked."

"Oh," said the girl. She smiled slightly, and then took a big bite of her sandwich.

Beth tried to sit quietly and wait for the other girl to make conversation. If she wanted to, she would, right? Beth had made the overture and now the ball was in the other girl's court.

But what if she was shy? What if she needed a topic to talk about? What if she was worried that Beth thought she was uninterested in proper nutrition? _They'll think you don't like them,_ said a voice in Beth's head that sounded like her mother and her sister and Nicola all at once. Beth decided there was no harm in being friendly. "Is your sandwich good? I didn't get a sandwich today so I don't know how they are but I hope you're enjoying yours."

The girl indicated that her mouth was full and she couldn't answer. She seemed to keep taking bites before the last one was completely swallowed, so Beth didn't think she'd manage to talk until it was done.

She felt a need to fill the silence. "I like when they serve pizza," she said. "The pepperoni kind is good but I like that they have just cheese too, you know how sometimes you feel like meat and sometimes not? Well - _I_ feel that way, I don't know about you." She put her cheek back on her hand, thoughtfully. "It would be nice if they gave us some vegetable toppings though, don't you think? I guess not everyone likes mushrooms, and I don't like peppers myself, but probably black olives or something would go over well. But maybe people are allergic, do you think? They probably have to be careful with allergies or something."

The girl was stuffing her fruit in her mouth, nodding and looking slightly panicked. After the last bit was gone, she chewed rapidly, took a deep breath, and said, "All done! I really gotta go." And she stood up, and she was gone.

"Bye," said Beth to the girl's retreating back. She had no idea what the girl's name was. She probably never would. When she stole a glance at Noah's table, her beloved wasn't there anymore. She didn't feel like leaving the cafeteria yet, though, and there were still twenty minutes left to lunch, so she pulled out her book and opened it.

In an effort to have some conversation topics to broach with Noah, she'd begun reading as many historical novels as she could find; currently she was working on one about the Spanish Inquisition, a topic she had chosen in part because of a discovery she'd made over the previous summer when she'd been at home and had gone through some of Candy's records. In among the bubblegum pop had been a comedy album with a great number of very odd spoken-word comedy sketches; the one that had struck Beth as immensely funny was a ridiculous bit about the threat of the Spanish Inquisition. She'd taken to listening to the record repeatedly, until she'd been discovered by her parents and the record - labelled "filth" by her mother - had been discarded. Candy had not been pleased; Beth, however, had already managed to memorize the skit by then. The book was not funny like the skit - not that Beth had expected that it would be - and although she was somewhat interested in the actual historical fact of the Inquisition, her attention kept slipping back to the comedy skit.

"One of the cross beams has gone out askew on the treddle," she mumbled to herself, then in a higher voice answered, "What on earth does _that_ mean?" She spoke directly to her book, almost unaware that she was saying it aloud. "_I_ don't know, Mr. Wentworth just told me to come in here and say that there was trouble at the mill, that's all - I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition!"

"NO one expects the Spanish Inquisition!" answered a female voice.

Beth jumped again, and looked up at the speaker. She found herself at a complete loss of words.

Nicola raised an eyebrow and gave a half-smile down at her. "Who were you talking to?"

"Um. Um. Nobody," said Beth, terrified. Her mouth had gone dry. Why was Nicola talking to her?

She'd crimped her hair and was still wearing makeup. Her shirt was tastefully off-the-shoulder. She cocked her head and said, not spitefully, "You were talking to yourself?" When Beth nodded, she asked, "So you just... sit here and recite skits to yourself?"

Beth nodded again, feeling herself blush.

Nicola gave a little laugh and shook her head. "You're totally weird," she said. It still, somehow, didn't sound mean. She sat down at the table across from Beth, and gave her a full smile. "But at least you know some good comedy."

* * *

_Extra author's notes: I didn't want to play it up at the beginning but that is, obviously, a Monty Python reference at the end there. I wanted to use a different one, but it wasn't put out on an album until the early 80s, and the Spanish Inquisition was on an album as early as the late 60s. Beth's parents didn't let her watch much TV, so there's no way she'd have SEEN "Monty Python's Flying Circus", but I figured Candy could have snuck in a record before her parents caught her._


	13. Act IV, part 3

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_A/N: So here I am again. No, I don't think updates will be getting regular again, because - I explained about this in an update to another fic, so apologies to anyone seeing it twice - I just had my second child and while my muse has returned from its year-long hiatus during my pregnancy, my time to write is even less than it was when my *first* child was this age. But I have some stuff to publish, so here we go! Please leave comments - I LOVE THEM. And they might manage to inspire more fic. :) I hope I still have an audience for this one - the one I had for TWC1 seems to have R-U-N-N-O-F-T - but if I don't I guess it's no one's fault but my own. Mine and my reproductive capabilities._

* * *

** Act IV, part III**

There were no apologies. Beth was wary at first, wondering if Nicola would explain anything - most notably why she would, after two years of cold silence, suddenly want to be friends again - but her prodigal best friend stayed quiet on that front. She didn't explain, she didn't apologize, but she didn't indicate any grudge towards Beth either. Since she didn't want to stir the waters, Beth just followed Nicola's lead and took up where they'd left off.

Nicola was turning thirteen in a short while, and when the school year ended in June, she'd be leaving Professor Pinfeather's. She'd managed to recover her grades, although she was lackadaisical about her work, and spent a lot of time just "coasting", with help now and then from some of her friends. She had, for the last little while, enjoyed a very active social life and was usually heavily involved in the "unofficial" parties that took place within the school - parties Beth had not known about, which were unsupervised and student-run.

There was one coming up at the end of the month, and Nicola was insistent that Beth go. "I always told you that you needed to be more social, right?" she said, going through her closet for an outfit Beth could borrow.

Beth protested by rote; she felt it was expected of her. "I _still_ don't know how," she said, and didn't mention that she didn't really _want_ to, either. After a week and a half of Nicola prompting her to use hairspray, wear makeup, and try some flashier clothes, Beth was beginning to suspect that she was a charity case of some kind. Still, she liked the one-on-one attention, and Nicola had been nothing but nice for the past ten days.

"I told you, I'm going to _show_ you!" Nicola found a very brightly-coloured set of spandex leggings and tossed them at Beth, who looked at them dubiously. "This party is going to be _classic_. It's your big chance to make a bunch of friends and show everyone how great you are!" She found a long, flowy shirt with a paisley pattern on it and held it up against Beth's chest. "Don't you want everyone to know how great you are?"

"I'm not great," said Beth. The idea of having people think she was great made her feel a little sick with worry.

"Suuuure," Nicola said sarcastically. She handed Beth the shirt and told her to get dressed. "We'll do your hair and makeup once you're in the clothes. I got some fake eyelashes you can wear, you'll look groovy."

The party was loud, and Beth felt conspicuous. She wasn't used to being conspicuous - she wasn't, in fact, really used to being _seen_ at all. Her clothes were bright and either too tight or too loose, and her hair was teased out to the point where it felt more like a hat. She could barely see through her eyelashes.

She wanted very badly to stand against the wall, but Nicola insisted on taking her around the room and introducing her. "You guys know Beth Webfoot, right?" Everyone nodded when she asked this, even though Beth knew that none of them recognized her. Nor were any of them interested in getting to know her, so Nicola just kept rushing her through the room. Beth consoled herself with the fact that this night would end, and then maybe Nicola would see that efforts to get Beth out into the social world were futile and it would be best just to hang out with her quietly, the way they used to do.

Nicola aimed her at someone else, steered her through the crowds, and Beth braced herself for another quick introduction and lackluster response. When she was close enough to see who they were approaching, however, her heart caught in her chest. _Noah._ She felt her entire body go cold, and prayed that maybe someone else would distract Nicola before they got there. Anything, anything but having to try to talk to him...

They made it, and Nicola tapped Noah on the shoulder, drawing him away from the two guys he was laughing with. "Hey Noah! You know Beth Webfoot, right?"

For a horrible moment, Beth thought Noah was going to say that he didn't know her. Instead he nodded. "Oh, sure! We're lab partners!" He took a closer look at her. "Wow, Beth, you look different! I didn't know that was you!"

"Haha," Beth said. It was not what she had meant to say, but it was all that came out. She tried again. "Yeah."

"Oh, I see Allison, I need to talk to her. Beth, I will totally be right back, 'kay? You guys talk for a second." Nicola darted off, leaving Beth and Noah alone. Beth felt like her insides were going to twist apart from terror, yet oddly, she had the sense that if that should actually happen, her death would still be a happy one.

"You enjoying the party?" Noah asked. His voice was comfortable; he sounded like he had never felt out of place in his life.

Beth felt obliged to lie. "Y-yeah! It's, um, LOTS of fun."

"Yeah? Keen." He went quiet, and looked for a moment at the can of soda in his hand.

Out of fear, Beth blurted out, "I don't go to many parties but this one I really like. Maybe because there are so many nice people here. Do you know everyone here?" When Noah looked up at her, clearly surprised, she amended, "Well, there _are_ a lot of people here so - so I guess it's hard to say for sure. But you probably do, you know a lot of people anyway, right? A-and, boy, I wish I knew as many people as you do. You, um, you can make a sports team whenever you want, right?" She laughed, and felt like an idiot.

"A sports team?" Noah looked confused.

Beth realized she had never spoken this much in front of him, in all the weeks they'd been working together. Was there a graceful way out of this conversation? "If - if you liked sports. Do you like sports? Um - I guess it doesn't matter." She looked around wildly for Nicola, and couldn't see any sign of her. And all of a sudden, she knew she was going to throw up. "I - I just remembered that I have to - to c-call my mother tonight because it's her birthday and, and I have to go!" She darted away, then ran back and added, "It was really nice talking to you!"

With that, she ran out of the room, hoping she could keep her dinner down.

* * *

Back in her room, Beth took off the borrowed clothes and got into her pajamas, then washed off the makeup and tried to comb her hair back into its normal, flat state. It didn't want to cooperate, and so when Nicola tiptoed her way in more than an hour later, Beth's hair was still a little on the floofy side. Nicola stared for a second, then decided to ignore it. "Where'd you go? Everyone missed you!" she said.

Beth doubted this, since no one had known her or said anything to her, and even Nicola had taken this long to come looking for her. "I started to feel sick," she said apologetically. "I'm not used to being around that many people."

Nicola frowned. "You were gonna get sick just from hanging out at a party? Wow, Beth. That's like new levels of lame."

Beth blinked, uncertain what to say to this. She thought it was pretty rude, but perhaps it was the kind of thing friends just said to each other, sometimes. She didn't have the courage to call Nicola on it, anyway, so she kept her tone apologetic. "Sorry. Maybe it was something I ate."

"Yeah, the caf food is pretty grody." Nicola bounced down on Beth's bed, her demeanor changing suddenly from annoyed to delightedly excited. "So, **what** did you **say** to Noah?"

"Huh?" Beth's stomach tightened anxiously. "What do you mean? Was - was he mad?"

"Mad? Not hardly! He couldn't stop talking about you after you left!" Nicola's eyes sparkled and she leaned forward and grabbed Beth's arm excitedly.

"R-really?" This was both thrilling and alarming. The feeling of being about to throw up returned. Beth felt that she couldn't have stood up from the bed if she had tried, and she was grateful for Nicola holding her arm. Still, she thought, she must be misunderstanding things. "Wh- I mean - what kind of things was he...?"

"He was asking me all about you, and like if you had a boyfriend, and if you'd ever talked about him, and all that kinda stuff!" Nicola grinned even wider when Beth put her hands to her mouth. "He's sweet on you!"

"No," Beth said in a whisper, but she couldn't keep from grinning ear-to-ear. This couldn't possibly be real. She denied it again, but this time with a shake of her head.

"Yuh-huh!" Nicola said insistently. "He told me!" Beth, beyond speech, just looked at her in shock. "He _did_! Look, Beth, you're just gonna have to accept it. He wants to ask you out, but he's afraid you're gonna say no."

"I wouldn't _ever_ say no!" Beth blurted. "Tell him I'll say yes!"

"Well, it's too late NOW! The party's pretty much over!" Nicola said, as if that much was obvious, and the time wasted was an offense to her very being. "But he told me to tell you all this, and that if you're gonna say yes, you can give him a sign tomorrow so that he'll know. Then he'll ask you officially."

"What's the sign?"

Nicola looked at her closely, as if to communicate that this next information was _very_ important. "You wear a big, blue bow in your hair tomorrow at lunch. When he sees you with the bow, he knows that your answer is yes, and that he has nothing to be embarrassed about."

"A bow?" Beth was filled with alarm. "I don't have a blue bow!"

"Don't _worry_!" Nicola said reassuringly, "I have a TON of ribbons in different colours, in my room. I'll get a blue one to you tomorrow morning. We'll make it really big, so he can see it from anywhere in the caf, and we'll be all set!"

Beth felt all the air go out of the room, and she had to lay back a little. "Wow," she said, almost in a whisper. "I can't believe it. I can't believe he likes me."

icola smiled and hugged her, then pulled back. "I know, huh? Isn't it groovy? Tomorrow you're gonna get just what you deserve."

* * *

Beth arrived even earlier than usual at the cafeteria the next afternoon - technically, morning; half of her mind was screaming at her to get out before Noah got there, and hide under her bed. Another quarter of her was saying, very calmly and rationally, that she should take the bow out of her hair and watch Noah carefully to see if he noticed her this morning. That would be the safest thing to do.

But Nicola had been so excited, and had tried out three bows on her before settling on the deep, purply-blue piece of velvety cloth that was now perched, plumped and primped, on the very center of Beth's head. Beth felt conspicuous and a little silly, but Nicola said it was cute, and Nicola understood fashion. Beth was the first to admit that she did not understand it, not in the least, so she put her trust in her friend and kept herself seated patiently in the cafeteria.

With each new student who entered, she felt the gnawing in her stomach get worse and worse. Couldn't this be done more privately? Or would that possibly be even more awful? As she fidgeted, certain that she was drawing stares, Beth felt like _nothing_ could be much worse than this public waiting.

When the doors to the cafeteria line finally opened, Nicola entered. She passed Beth in silence, but gave her a huge grin and a thumbs-up, showing her support.

It was another few minutes before Noah even showed up, and Beth spent every second of them regretting her decision. The only thing that kept her in the room was her own inability to move; she seemed to have transformed, somehow, into granite. When Noah finally entered, her breath caught in her throat and she wasn't aware of it ever emerging at all. She looked at him as he made his way to his table, trying to catch his eye, but he didn't even look in her direction. Maybe he didn't know where she was sitting? She wasn't sure what to do, or how to attract his attention without attracting the attention of the rest of the cafeteria, so she decided to wait and see what he would do.

He got up, stood in the line for food, and was returning to his seat with his lunch tray before he even shot a glance in her direction. Maybe the bow just wasn't noticeable enough, Beth considered. It seemed that she was going to have to do something, which was a concept she detested, but if it couldn't be helped...

His path, this time, took him right near her table, so she took a deep breath and stood up as he walked by. "N-Noah?"

He came to a stop, blinking, his handsome features converging into a confused expression. "Oh... hey, Beth," he said. One of his friends caught up with him and stood at his shoulder, and Beth's stomach knotted. Why wouldn't he say anything?

She smiled, and swallowed hard, then said, "Hi." He must have noticed the bow. She clasped her hands together in front of her, and took a step forward. He was smiling at her - that was good, right? Oh, but why, WHY wouldn't he say anything? She realized that maybe he was nervous, and despite the signal, needed to hear something from her. "Um... Yes," she said, lifting her chin, trying to look confidant and certain.

Noah, on the other hand, only looked more confused. "Yes?" When she nodded, he glanced briefly at his friend and then said, "Yes, what?"

Everything clicked into place with a horrible rush of understanding: he had not spoken to Nicola. He hadn't told her that he liked Beth. He had not asked her to wear a bow and had never had any intention of asking her out. He didn't like her, not as a girlfriend, very possibly not at all.

She had to get out of this, quickly - out of the conversation, then out of the cafeteria. Her head spun with the effort it took to think of a way out. "Y-yes, I, um, I am excited about our project. D-didn't you... ask me if I- I was ex-excited about our p-project?"

He shot another glance at his friend, who had been joined by a third party now; there was a ghost of a smirk in it, and Beth felt like she'd been stabbed through the heart. "Nope, I don't think I did."

"Oh. I... well... I am, anyway." Lame, but it seemed to do the trick.

His smile looked heavy with condescension. Beth wondered if it had always been that way. He said, "Groovy. Me too, I guess. I gotta go, though." He gave her a little wave, then said, "Like your bow."

Beth had never hated anything as much as she hated that bow, but she nodded as if she accepted the compliment, and sank back into her seat as he walked away. His first friend said something immediately, and Noah and the other friend laughed; everything in their bearing told Beth for certain that they were mocking her.

She watched, telling herself she was just waiting until no one was looking before she left the room and took the bow off before afternoon classes. As he weaved his way among the tables back to his seat, a voice called across the room, managing to make itself heard even over the other yelling children.

"NOAH! Hey, over here!"

Noah looked in the direction of the voice, and beamed when he saw Nicola trotting towards him. He balanced his food tray in one hand and held the other out to her, and when she reached him, she took it and swung it. Allison Macaw and a few girls Beth didn't really know grouped around them moments later. Allison looked straight at Beth, laughing; the other girls sent looks her way, nudging each other, pointing and giggling and covering their mouths.

Nicola was sitting before she looked; she was mid-laugh, grabbing Noah's shoulder, and Beth was frozen in her seat, as much granite as she'd been five minutes earlier, before Noah had even come into the room. Nicola's expression was giddy, and she looked at Beth with every line in her face full of satisfaction and pride. As her eyes met Beth's, though, they lingered, and something left her smile; she quieted, then, and looked away quickly.

Beth couldn't leave the room. She didn't understand why, but she couldn't. She stayed and watched the table throughout the lunch hour, and many times Nicola's friends looked at her, and a few times Noah's friends did too, and once or twice Noah shot her a glance. Nicola, on the other hand, kept her eyes averted for the rest of the meal.

* * *

She kept the bow in for the rest of the day. She attended all her classes, did all the work, spoke when spoken to, and didn't remove the bow. Periodically, a lump would grow in her throat, and with her eyes blurring with tears she would reach toward her head; then her hand would freeze, and return to her lap, because if she took it out now everyone would know. They would just laugh harder. Maybe if she just left it in she could pretend that she had just felt like wearing a bow that day. A big, ugly, poofy, stupid blue bow.

The truth was that it probably didn't matter, and deep down she knew it. She could no more save her dignity by taking out the bow or by skipping classes than she could by doing nothing; so she did nothing.

The day dragged by, with long sections of it in a haze of unawareness. Finally she headed back towards her room, skipping dinner even though she'd skipped lunch, and didn't hear the voices in the hallway until it was too late.

"No, it was _radical_," said a girl's voice. "You laid her down _flat_!"

Another girl spoke, her voice low and unemotional. "I don't know. I thought it would be... you know, more _fun_."

"What wasn't FUN about it? Didn't you see the look on her face? I mean - you _totally_ got even with her and it was _hysterical_ to boot!"

After a pause, the other girl said, "I guess. I was just thinking-"

Beth rounded the corner in ignorance and nearly walked into the two girls speaking. They whirled to look at her, clearly irritated, and Beth felt herself physically rocked as she realized it was Allison and Nicola. The girls' expressions changed as they recognized her, too; Nicola went pale and turned away from her, while Allison smirked and pulled her shoulders back, standing taller.

"Um," said Beth, by mistake; she didn't want to say anything at all.

"Niiiice bow," said Allison snidely. She reached out and fingered the loose ends, snickering.

Without looking up, Nicola said, "Knock it off."

"What?" Now Allison looked annoyed again, but this time it was definitely aimed at her friend.

Nicola shook her head and shrugged. "I mean, she- she's not even fun if she doesn't fight back."

Beth, cringing against the wall, almost felt insulted. Something within her flared to life, trying to incite her to anger, to get her to rise to the challenge of fighting back... but she just didn't have the energy.

"Yeah, I guess not," said Allison. She snorted, and to Beth she said, "Hear that? You're so lame you're not even worth talking to." As she started off with Nicola, she said - her voice clearly at a level that was meant to be audible to Beth - "You know, if she wasn't wearing that bow you probably wouldn't even _see_ her up against that wall."

Nicola might have made some answer, or there might have just been a snicker in reply - or there might have been no reply at all. Beth couldn't tell.

* * *

Now

"You didn't tell me that you had another encounter with Nicola," said Dr. Mortimer.

Beth shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered that much. I mean, it didn't change anything, and..."

He interpreted her fall into silence. "Is that one a little harder to talk about?" Beth nodded reluctantly. "I can understand that. What do you think about that experience now, as an adult?"

"I think..." Beth paused, then offered, "I think it was about being... young. And um, about not... not knowing what to think about yourself, and - falling victim to..."

"Is that what you think?" interrupted Dr. Mortimer gently, "or is that what you're trying to conclude, right now, because you think it seems right?"

She didn't answer, only blinked to herself slowly. Then she let out a long breath and said, in a small voice, "It feels the same now as it did when it happened. It was stupid and it hurt, and it hurts now. And that's really stupid that it hurts now, because it was fifteen years ago and I haven't seen any of those people in fifteen years and I bet they don't even think about me at all."

"Does it bother you that they might not think of you?"

After another pause, Beth said in an even smaller voice, "I still think of them."

Now Dr. Mortimer nodded and didn't speak.

"And the thing that really stinks, too, is the fact that it... it should have been just one of those things that happens when you're a kid, but this wasn't. It's just been a, a pattern," she went on, sitting forward slightly and spreading her hands. "This set the tone for my whole life story. Girls don't like me, and boys don't notice me." After a moment's thought, she added, "And I think the not noticing part is the worst."

"So you've found this is a pattern for you?"

There had been one exception, and Beth came close to telling him that. But that would change the point of the conversation, and even undermine it; and then she'd have to explain why that exception was both the best and the worst thing to happen in her life, and she couldn't yet. Instead she nodded. "All my life."

"Did it reoccur at your school?"

She shook her head. "No. I mean, with Noah - well... Pinny's only kept kids until they turned 13, and at that point it was pretty much figured that anyone who had made it that far in their curriculum was ready to move ahead, into high school or college or whatever self-directed program they wanted. So Noah and Nicola both left at the end of that year, and I was... you know, I was really sad for a while and I swore I'd never fall in love again," she finished with an embarrassed laugh. She remembered so well, lying in her bed at night with her dramatic certainty that the only boy she would ever love had foresworn her, forever.

"But then the next school year started, and I just went right back to work, and... I don't know... things were a little easier to deal with. Nothing much happened the final year and when I finished, I moved back home with my parents again."

Dr. Mortimer nodded. "You were thirteen?"

"I finished out the school year and turned thirteen in July."

"What direction did you take after that? Was that when you started college courses?"

"Oh. Um, well, no, not for a little while. Actually, no one really knew what they should do with me at first."

* * *

May, 1980.

The idea of returning home had not been a relief to Beth, who had spent the past two years trying to stay away from her home. So when Professor Pinfeather's had proferred an official invitation for Beth to stay on in one of their Extended Research Opportunity programs - an offer made only to students who showed "exceptional promise" - she'd done her best to convince her parents that this was the best course for her. Continuing her education was all she really wanted.

But it hadn't worked, somewhat to her surprise. Even the fact that it was free, and her room, board, and tuition would all be covered within the federally-funded program, weren't enough to coax her mother into the idea. Irene wass adamant that Beth return home, and as usual, where Irene went, so went her husband. And the truth was that Beth knew she didn't really want to enter the program; but it was her one and only alternative to returning home full-time, and "home" was now far stranger to her than the school she was leaving.

That, and she had no idea wht she was going to _do_ once she got home.

It turned out that no one knew the answer to that. Beth arrived home, and there was talk of enrolling her in high school with Candy, but that fell through when it became clear she far outclassed any of the curriculum except the pre-college classes, and even those might be considered more in the way of refresher courses.

Several weeks into the school year and out of real options, Beth's parents put the matter on hold for a while and let her have "free time" in order to adjust to living at home again. What this meant was that everyone left her alone, and that during the day - while her brother and sister were at school and both her parents at work - Beth had long hours without company and without direction.

It was actually kind of nice at first. During the first week, the extended time without having to live up to someone else's expectations was blissful.

But it got so _boring_, so quickly. She had books, but not much else, and how much generalized reading could she _do_? Each day her parents asked her what she had done that day, as though she was expected to accomplish something new during her free time. Beth considered, at first resentfully and then with some genuine interest, asking them for a lesson plan of some kind - something she could tackle, try to learn, during her hours alone.

There were no suggestions, though. After a few months, Beth ran out of books that she was interested in reading. The frightening thought crossed her mind that maybe she was just _tired_ of reading, and after a day or two of letting that fear pervade - no doubt spurred on by her deepening sense of isolation - she decided to find an answer once and for all by breaking her mother's "don't leave the house" rule and heading out to the public library.

It was the first time in her life she'd openly defied her parents, and quite possibly the hardest thing she'd ever made herself do. It took her a week of nerving herself up before she could walk the block and a half to get there. Of course she considered simply _asking_ her parents, but dreaded the conversation with her mother - and her father, much as she loved him, was likely to simply pass the request on to her mother for approval. Which would, either way, leave her in the same place.

So instead, she snuck out. The venture was successful, and she ended up visiting every day for a week, so she finally got her nerve up to ask her mother if she could possibly go out to the library for a little while somedays instead of being cooped up. When her mother said yes, just like that, Beth felt guilty and a little cheated.

But it was nice to have some place to go, and a vastly wider set of options when it came to reading, and knowledge in general. From then on she spent at least three hours a day at the library.

It was around 4 o'clock one afternoon in early fall when Beth was walking home that she realized she had a problem. She'd borrowed about seven books that afternoon, to join the eight or so others she'd taken out that week that were strewn along her bedroom floor; the problem, however, had nothing to do with her ongoing and still-growing addiction to books but rather with the very practical difficulty she was going to have in getting her front door open. The idea of just putting them down on the ground never occurred to her.

Leaving the library with both arms full of books hadn't been easy, exactly, but it had been possible - she'd had to push the door open while backing out of the building, but aside from keeping sure she didn't bump into anyone, it had gone smoothly. At home, however, the days were getting cooler and her front door was certainly going to be closed. How was she going to work the knob? By this time of day, Candy and her friends were probably at the house, which made knocking an even worse option than it would have been if the house had been empty.

Candy was a cheerleader - one of the school's top cheerleaders, in fact - and any afternoon that she didn't have practice, she and her friends came home. Her friends consisted not only of other cheerleaders, but also her boyfriends, the boyfriends of her friends, and any boys who just hung around in hopes of _becoming_ someone's boyfriend. All the boys were football players. Beth wasn't fond of any of that crowd, which was a different size each day depending on who felt like stopping by. They ate all the snacks, talked loudly, and worst of all, kept the TV on all afternoon and evening.

She hadn't thought of a way to get inside even by the time she was heading up the sidewalk, though she was shifting the weight of the books between her arms, trying to see if she could balance them long enough to open the door. She had just decided to risk reaching out with her right hand for the doorknob, when naturally, all the books started to slide. Slowly. Slowly but unstoppably.

Beth grimaced, and was about to start fumbling, when suddenly someone else was there. "Hey, lemme get that," said a deep male voice. She saw sandy blond hair, ducking down near her, gathering the books and then lifting them from her arms. "There - got everything. You got the door?"

The speaker straightened up and became a 16-year-old boy with deep brown eyes and a letter jacket for the high school's football team. Beth, who didn't have the door just yet, stared at him.

"Okay?" he asked. His tone was friendly.

She blinked and nodded rapidly. "S-sorry," she said. She turned her attention back to the door, pushed it open, and let him inside.

Once he was through, he put her books onto the nearest hall table, then turned and waved with a grin on his face. "Thanks!" he said, and set off for the living room. He clearly already knew where it was, and Beth wondered how many times he had been in her house, in her living room, without her knowing he even existed. She wondered how that had been possible.

Belatedly, she called, "Thank _you_," but her voice was drowned out by the shouts of "CUBE!" as the boy entered the living room and joined his friends.

She had to know more about him.

* * *

It was a few days later when she saw him again. She'd taken a quick look in on Candy and her friends most afternoons in the living room, and there was never any sign of the intriguing new boy, so she'd usually pretend that she needed something from the kitchen.

One day, after she'd snuck a look at the mob of jocks and jockettes making loud noises in the other room, she was pouring herself a glass of orange juice when he just walked in. She didn't see him at first and it wasn't until she was turning around, juice glass to her mouth, that she realized she wasn't alone. She jumped, nearly dropping the glass.

"Hey," he said, and grinned at her. Her heart was hammering; she wondered if facial expressions alone could induce heart attacks. "You guys got any more cheese curls?"

"I...?" Beth honestly didn't know; she didn't eat them. In fact, they were considered Candy's property and as such were off-limits. "Um... I don't really... let me take a..." She faltered around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors, even the ones she knew led to things like tableware or cleaning supplies. "I...I don't see any, b-but..."

"No prob," he said casually. "I guess we got enough chips. See ya."

"S-see ya," she said. When he was gone, she swallowed and started breathing again. That had been an actual _conversation_! With a beginning and a middle and an end! She suddenly wanted to kick herself as she realized that she had made no effort to sustain it. Maybe he'd have stayed and talked to her longer if she hadn't been such a drooling dweeb. Next time, she promised herself, she would TALK to him.

Although considering what usually came out of her mouth when she tried things like that, maybe that was the worst possible idea...

Upon realizing she didn't even know his name, she first thought that would be the topic of their next conversation. After all it was a great conversation starter, right? Just introduce yourself and ask for the name of the other person. But then she started to wonder if she'd left it too long; they'd spoken twice already, and if she admitted that she didn't know his name by now, he might think she was shallow. So she decided to ask her sister.

"Who?" asked Candy, without tearing her eyes away from her vanity mirror as she combed her hair.

"That friend of yours. Sandy-blond hair, dark eyebrows, kind of a greyish tint to his feathers..."

"Oh, Cube?" Candy nodded vaguely. "His name's Aaron."

Beth had to pause before asking. "Um... if his name's -"

"Because," Candy interrupted, anticipating the question, "he's the QB. So we shortened it to Cube."

"...The QB?"

With a sigh, Candy explained, "The _quarter_back." After a pause of only a half-second, she added condescendingly, "It's a football term."

"I know that!" said Beth. She left Candy's room quickly in order to avoid any more snapping from either side.

Aaron. She wondered if she should call him Aaron, or Cube? Everyone else seemed to call him Cube, and she wanted to be like everyone else. Or... did she? Maybe if she called him Aaron, she would stand out, and it would make him start to think that she was special. _Different_. Worth getting to know.

She didn't see him again for another few days, and when she did, it was a complete surprise.

She was at the library, checking out another new stack of books, and when she turned around he was third in line behind her. She gaped for a moment, trying to figure out if she should say anything, but before she came to a decision he smiled and nodded her way. "Hey," he said as she approached him. "You're Beth, right? Candy's sister?"

He knew her name! She couldn't breathe, so she only nodded.

"If you're on your way home, you need a ride?"

So after he'd checked out his book ("Tropicana Aquarius", a book Beth had never heard of before), they headed out to the parking lot. She followed him to his car, which looked old; Beth didn't know what kind of car was from when, but just the age of the car in general seemed to be at least twenty years old. Her door stuck when she tried to open it, and Aaron had to do some odd trick with lifting the handle and jiggling what appeared to be the entire door up and down before it would give.

"There ya go," he said, flashing her a grin as he opened the door for her, and once she'd slid onto the seat he swung the door closed again and headed over to the driver's side.

It was a car ride of many firsts: the first time she'd driven with a teenager, first time riding with a boy, first time alone in the car with a handsome football star... Beth could feel herself practically vibrating along with the engine as Aaron pulled out of the library parking lot. This was so amazing! She felt so grown up - and, she supposed, at age thirteen it was probably about time she started to have grown up experiences. What would they talk about? What if he didn't want to talk, or... or wanted to do more than just talk? What if, she considered giddily - she knew her imagination was running away with her, but she couldn't help it - what if he wanted to hold hands? Or... what if he tried to kiss her?

Oh, lord. What if he _did_ try to kiss her??

Suddenly terrified, Beth did the only thing she could think of to stave off such a possibility, which was to create a stimulating conversation that no one could possibly bear to interrupt. "So," she said, wincing at how dry her mouth felt, "um, wow, so it was really cool to just run into you like that! And, and I never would've expected to see you at the library. Oh! Not that, I mean, I don't mean that I wouldn't expect you to GO to the library, it's just, I um, I go there pretty much every day and I've never seen you before, and..." Every single thing she said was coming out in the worst way possible. She clenched her hands together in her lap and swallowed, trying to save herself. "Well, anyway, I mean, seeing you was - is - it's fun! Don't you think it's... fun?"

He laughed a little, and nodded. "Sure."

Well, he didn't seem irritated or anything. Beth tried to force herself to relax. "Do... do you need any directions on getting to my house? I mean... it's only about a block and a half, but..."

"Nah, I'm good," answered Aaron. "Thanks though."

"Oh. Great." She paused, looking at her fingers as she twisted them together almost painfully, then tried a new conversation topic. "So... um, how's practice?"

"Oh, y'know," he answered casually, "pretty awesome, mostly. Of course the season's started and so we're not practicing as much, we're mostly just playing the games."

"Oh! Oh yeah!" Beth could feel herself blushing. She should have been paying more attention to the seasonal schedule, she thought; Candy had been talking about the big Homecoming game weeks ago. "Are they going well?"

"Yeah, pretty much," he said dismissively. "Your sister is an awesome cheerleader."

"Oh," Beth said, nodding; this was the only area she could think of where they would have anything in common, and it immediately dawned on her that this might be her best chance to start to get to know him. "Yeah, well, Candy is good at... at that... sort of thing." She scratched the back of her neck uncomfortably, and tried to smile. "She's very... um... cheery."

Aaron didn't say anything right away, but he laughed and nodded. After a moment, he said, "She's got a lotta enthusiasm for the team. It's pretty cool."

"I bet it's great to have that kind of support," Beth offered. "I mean... it's just, well, it's nice to hear that she can be that way. I mean -" Once again, things were coming out wrong; she had a feeling everything she said about Candy was sounding two-faced, and she didn't want to seem like that kind of girl in front of Aaron. "How... how long have you known Candy?" she ventured.

"Oh, I dunno. Two... three years? Just in high school. She's a sophomore so I guess it's like two years. Or maybe less." He paused, smiling a little, watching the road as he pulled down Beth's street towards her house. "Seems like longer than it really is, I guess."

"Wow," said Beth. "You probably know her better than even I do, then."

"Well, can anyone _really_ know her?" he said with a laugh. Beth, with no idea what he meant, laughed as well. "Don't you guys talk much, then? I mean, I figured, you're her sister, you must hang out."

"Oh, well. I-I was away for a long time, at this..." She was suddenly aware that telling him she was at a school for the gifted could sound stuck-up, so instead she finished, "...camp."

"A camp? Like what? Space camp?"

"Um. Kind of like that." She tried to keep it vague, so that she could perhaps return to the story later and come up with something that sounded cool.

"Wow. Far out."

The conversation ended there, as they pulled into the driveway. Aaron leaned over across the seats once he'd shut the engine off, and Beth froze with her heart in her throat, wondering if she'd have the strength to push herself out of the car in case he was about to kiss her - wondering also if she actually _wanted_ to get out of the car, if that was his intent - but when he reached past her and pushed at the door on her side, she remembered that it stuck and realized what he was really doing. Her reaction was a pure and even mix of relief and disappointment. "Um, well, thanks so much," she said, gathering her books.

"Yeah, it's cool," he said with a nod.

Beth hadn't yet pushed her door all the way open, although her hand was on it; but she couldn't think of a good reason to linger, either. In a minute she'd have to get out of the car. How could she find an excuse to stay? How could she extend their time together?

"Want to stay for dinner?" she asked quickly. The concept - taking him inside and sharing him with the rest of her family - wasn't what she really wanted, but it was all she was capable of.

His face lit up in any case, and she melted. "That'd be awesome," he answered.

* * *

"So you're into Cube?" asked Candy that night. "I really should've guessed that after you were pestering me about him the other day."

"I was not pestering!" answered Beth, turning pink. She tried very hard to look only at the book she was reading. "And I definitely am not 'into' him! I mean geez, not everyone's crazy over boys the way _you_ are."

Candy leaned into the doorframe at Beth's door, and managed to make it look like she was posing for a magazine. "All I'm trying to say is, if you've got a thing for Cube, you should probably just get over it. You're not his type."

Beth's throat seemed to seize up. She managed to keep from looking up from her book, and kept her voice miraculously level when she answered, "I'm not. Seriously."

"Okay, good then."

Her sister was just starting to leave, when Beth - unwisely - added, "Though I don't know how _you'd_ know all about _his_ type."

Candy turned back and her expression was unmistakably triumphant. "I've known the guy for like a year and a half, I know who he's into, and he's just not into girls like you. You're setting yourself up for disappointment, Bessie," she said, and kept talking over Beth's efforts to deny that Candy had the slightest idea what she was talking about.

The conversation didn't last much longer - there wasn't much more to say - but Beth managed to address almost all of it to her book, to one specific paragraph which, despite her staring at it for a subsequent twenty minutes, she never did manage to finish.

In spite of her certainty, Candy was clearly wrong. Cube _did_ like her. Beth couldn't tell how much, or if he liked her the way she liked him, but she could tell he liked her. He paid attention to her. He let her talk, and he drove her home from the library five more times, and every time they talked more and more about Beth's home life, about what she and her sister had been like when they were little, about what role the cheerleaders played in the winning equation of the football team, about what it was like having a sister, on and on. She always invited him in afterwards, and he always accepted. It was entirely different from how it had been with Noah, because Aaron _noticed_ her. Aaron knew she existed. Being invisible was not being liked, but being noticed could only mean good things, right?

Almost two weeks went by this way before she found out the truth.

When it happened, she ran home as fast as she could, threw herself into the house, and looked around as if trying to find the best place to hide. Breathing raggedly, alternating between gasps and sobs, she found her way to her bedroom and dove into her bed; she buried her face there and cried the bitter tears of realization and self-recognition.

Why? Why had she even allowed herself to hope? Why had he acted as if... why had _she_...

Beth couldn't complete the thoughts coherently; her misery was too deep, and all her wonderings kept being washed away by the non-stop flow of her tears.

When Candy came home, a leisurely fifteen minutes later, the worst of Beth's tears had abated and she was able to lift her head when her older sister knocked at the door and nudged it open. "You okay?"

"What do _you_ care?" Beth asked accusingly; her voice was uncharacteristically deep and dangerously low.

Candy looked away, though her face didn't betray anything like guilt. "Look, I tried to tell you..."

"If _you_ liked him, why didn't you just say so?!"

"I don't like _him_, he likes _me_."

Beth choked on something that wasn't quite a laugh but didn't quite make it as a sob, either. "That's so _stupid_! You like him enough to be kissing him-"

"He kissed _me_," Candy said. Although the words seemed insistent, she spoke them without much emphasis.

"-And you were doing it in a place where you _knew_ I'd see you!" A place, Beth felt in her lovesick heart, that had become "theirs"... although she knew the library was a public place, it had started to feel like Aaron came there just to see her. And then Candy had - was -

Candy finally looked a shade touched by Beth's anger and hurt. "I was just trying to show you-"

"Show me _what_? That you're better than me?! That all the guys will always like you more?"

"Fine!" snapped Candy, dropping her hand from the doorframe and clenching it into a fist. "Think that if you want to! You're too darn stubborn, and you didn't listen when I tried to tell you what was really going on, so I was trying to look out for you but you can just make this all my fault if you wanna!"

"It _is_ all your fault!"

"FINE! Creep!" And with that, Candy was gone, but the pain was still there. The pain would stay for much, much longer.

She skipped dinner that night, avoided the library the next day, and didn't speak to Candy for almost a week. When she went to the library again, two days later, she looked for Aaron; she spent so much time looking for him that she didn't manage to take out any books. He didn't show up the next day either, but she still held the hope that he would be back; he would come back and explain that it had been a mistake, that Candy had thrown herself at him... Because of course he would be back. They were _friends_. Candy was wrong, they were really friends and he hadn't been coming to the library just so that Beth would help him get to see...

Maybe, she thought on the fourth day, he was embarrassed and didn't know how to explain it all to her. Maybe that was why he wasn't coming.

At the end of the fifth day, she gave up and buried her dead, broken heart. She would never love again; it was futile and silly, and it had made her act like a fool.

The next week at the library she noticed an ad she hadn't seen before, describing various local "Adult Education Classes" that were taught in the evenings at the local elementary school. She dove on the idea with all the passion in her thirteen-year-old soul.

* * *

Now

"And what came of that?" asked Dr Mortimer, and Beth realized she'd been silent for longer than was really excusable. Her mind still on Aaron, it took her a moment to realize that the doctor was actually speaking about her continued education and not her second big heartbreak.

She shook herself out of it as best she could, musing that it had been years since she'd even really _thought_ of Aaron that much. Noah, and Nicola - that had stayed with her much more strongly, but Aaron... Cube... a lot of the details of that business were things that had been vague and half-remembered for years now. It was amazing how clear they suddenly were. For years, the most important part of that experience had been the betrayal by her sister: Aaron had begun to seem almost incidental, just a catalyst. Why had she suddenly called him up in such detail? Why did it suddenly hurt again, after all these years?

Probably just her general mood, she figured, and tried to dismiss it. Cynical about romance in general, already full of self-pity over remembering Noah, it was easy to bathe herself in all her past rejections... even the ones that had stopped mattering as much. She was glad she hadn't spoken much of it aloud to Dr Mortimer, except in passing - at least she wouldn't have to explain her strange mindset to him...

"Oh, um," she said, shaking her head to wake herself up. "Sorry. I was thinking of something. Um... what came of the adult education?" The doctor nodded. "Well - heh. It was a fight the whole way. I had to fight to get my mother to say yes - it took like a week - and finally I think she just agreed to get me to shut up, like she thought it was a passing fancy and I'd grow out of it or something.

"And _then_, once that was settled, the people running the program didn't want to let me into it because I was so young. So then my mom had to fight to get the class to let me in, and once she was facing opposition, she got really gung-ho on the whole thing. After a few weeks of the whole debacle, I was ready to say forget it, but she was determined and I got on the roster for a gardening class starting in early February."

"A gardening class? That wasn't what I expected."

Beth laughed. "Well, it wasn't like they had high-level courses. This was general adult education classes, not college courses or something. They were less about high-level education and more about learning useful practices."

Dr. Mortimer persisted, "Yes, but... gardening?"

"Yeah, well, none of us were sure what I should start out doing." Beth shrugged. "Once I got going, though, I just started trying to work my way through everything that even remotely applied to me. They had some accounting courses, some language classes, things like that. I only did it until the end of Spring and then one of the teachers called my mother and told her that I really should start taking classes at the community college."

"I'm surprised you didn't think of that earlier."

"It never occurred to me, because I was so young. But I had qualifications, documentation of my education, all the records they needed, you know... So in the fall I started college."

Dr. Mortimer nodded. "When you were fourteen, right?"

"Right."

"And you majored in chemistry?"

"Biology. And math. But not until later - it took me a long time to pin that down."

"I remember." Dr. Mortimer grinned. "We used to talk about that a lot."

"Right," said Beth, with a laugh that was half-faked. "Um, so, to start out I just... took whatever I felt like taking. All the classes I could. I couldn't do much at first, because initially my parents didn't enroll me officially, I was just taking courses on campus. Then by the Winter semester, my grades were good and I was getting all this attention from the school faculty, and they kind of... threw this scholarship at me..." Beth shrugged, as if this had been an inconvenience. "And, I guess then there was nothing stopping me, so I enrolled full time and took the bus every day, and... you know, I think that semester was the best four months or so of my life. I was just... in class, or studying, or doing homework all the time, and no one in my family was bothering me, and the other students were all grown up so _they_ weren't bothering me, and..." She smiled, feeling vaguely melancholy. "It was just... nice."

Dr. Mortimer's voice was gentle and casual with his next question, as though there was nothing behind it, nothing implicit or negative to it. "Do you remember why your mother felt you should start coming to see me?"

That had started just before she turned fifteen, and had lasted a good six months. Her mother had insisted that she leave time for her therapy sessions when scheduling her fall semester. Beth heaved a sigh. "That would be because my mother decided I wasn't happy enough."

"And you feel differently."

"Well, I feel like it wasn't for her to decide," Beth said. It was mostly a way of evading the question, because she did have to admit - to herself, at least - that once she'd stopped her classes for the summer her mood had fallen significantly, worse than when she'd come home from Pinny's for good. But it was just another signpost in the road of her life, the road her mother had mapped out for her: WRONG WAY, this one read. TURN AROUND, SEE DOCTOR. Irritation started bubbling up inside of her as she said, "She _still_ does that. That's why I started coming in the first place **this** time. It's like she can't trust that I can make _any_ right decisions on my own, so she has to do it all for me..."

She trailed off, thinking of her mother in the waiting room... and of her mother apologizing earlier that day. With a sigh, she let most of the irritation run out of her, and tried to push the last dregs away forcefully. "But... she means well whenever she does it. And, I mean, I'm the one who chose to keep coming back here, even if she set the whole thing up."

"You chose this time?"

Beth shrugged. "I chose both times." 


	14. Act IV, part 4

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Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth

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_A/N: Well, this is the last chapter I had in reserve! It took a while to release it because it needed some polishing, and I am lazy as all get-out. Huge thanks to Amanda (Darkwingpsycho) for betaing it, and for helping me with some of the dialogue towards the end! She gave me a directional nudge for Beth's conversation with Drake at the end of the fic, and I fleshed it out some. I hope I do justice to what she had in mind - I did change a few things around but hopefully it's still in the same vein as what she suggested :) At this point in the flashbacks for Beth, she's in her teenage years, and to my memory I made some of the dumbest decisions of my life back then - so this is reflected in Beth at this stage. Things that might seem obviously wrong to the reader seem right in her mind, and I just wanted to make sure everyone knew this was intentional on my part._

_Also, speaking again of Amanda, anyone who has a bit of cash to spare and an interest in artwork please consider getting a commission from her! She's a very talented artist and is taking commission requests right now. I've had one done already, and it's fantastic; I'm working on coordinating another. Check her profile (as mentioned, she's darkwingpsycho - you can check my profile and get to her under my favourite authors list) and I think she'll have links to more info. Thanks!!_

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**Act IV, Chapter Four**

**June, 1982**

Her third appointment with Dr. Mortimer was moderately better than her second, and heads above her first. The first had taken place mainly in a stiff, nervous silence - try as she might, Beth could never manage "sullen" or "resentful" with anyone outside her family - but she'd come to like him a little bit the second time, and by the end of the visit she wasn't dreading her return the way she had been the week before. They didn't talk about the kinds of things she'd expected: it wasn't "tell me about your father" or "let's examine your dreams", and he was definitely not the kind of shrink who held up ink blots and graded you based on your responses.

Instead he let her direct the conversation, which was intimidating and kind of lonely, but also gave her an opportunity to relax a little. She'd fallen into a habit of talking when she got nervous, of disliking long silence, but when _expected_ to talk she froze up perversely; Dr. Mortimer was good at putting out a vibe of interest, as if anything that interested her would also interest him. She was disappointed that he was pretty much the only person she'd ever met who seemed to feel that way, and he was probably doing it because he'd been trained to and not because she was actually interesting... But, well, it made him go kind of invisible after a while and she got to say whatever she wanted and know for _certain_ that he wasn't wishing she'd shut up so that he could get a word in.

He _was_ probably judging her, but everyone did that, so she tried not to care.

Last time he had asked her what movies she liked, and she'd answered that she really hadn't seen very many because she didn't go out much and her parents (mother, really) insisted that she shouldn't watch more than a half an hour of TV per day, so instead he'd asked about books and then she'd gone on for nearly fifteen minutes before the timer had chimed and he'd said they could continue this conversation next week. She'd spent the week compiling a list of her favourite books, and then two hours before her appointment she'd ripped it up and thrown it out, because he wasn't _really_ interested in what books she had read. That was dumb. It was just a way to get her to open up.

Still, she didn't mind. So she talked about books some more, right off the bat, for another 20 minutes just because she enjoyed it. She hoped that was okay.

Towards the end of the appointment, he got to talking about different things - things she could try, maybe to expand her mind or something. Since she was so fond of reading, he wondered, had she ever thought about trying her hand at writing something herself?

No, she hadn't, and she answered quickly and - she had hoped - decisively. Unfortunately she hadn't managed "decisive", only nervous and self-conscious, so he kept at the idea. It didn't have to be fiction; she could try to write a poem, or maybe even just keep a journal. He said she didn't even have to let him read it, she could write it just for herself. It was just a thought. Not homework.

It seemed to mean so much to him that, in the end, she agreed. As long as she didn't have to show anyone, what would be the harm? If the stuff she wrote was bad, she could just toss it out.

At home she sat and stared at the blank pages of a notebook, her head entirely devoid of words, and after drawing some spirals in the margins she closed it and went to bed. She would try a poem by the end of the week, she vowed; the thought of keeping a journal and having her mother read it (which was inevitable) terrified her, but she could manage just _one_ poem.

She liked Dr. Mortimer, she decided. She liked him a lot - maybe it had been the fact that he'd said she wouldn't have to show him anything she wrote, he just thought it would be nice if she tried it out - and he listened to her, and she got the feeling she could tell him anything and he wouldn't think less of her.

Maybe, she thought as she got her pajamas on and slid between the sheets of her bed, at her next visit she would tell him what she couldn't tell anyone else... the reason she'd become so listless at home, the reason even her mother had noticed that she didn't seem right. No one would understand, but maybe she could just... get it off her chest.

No one would understand? That was because no one _could_ understand; it was stupid and selfish, and if she told anyone they would think she was crazy. She wasn't even sure if she could really tell Dr. Mortimer. Anyone else would think it was good news, and... and it WAS good news, really. Beth knew that, and it made it all the harder that she couldn't just be happy about it.

Almost two months ago, now, since her mother had made the announcement at the breakfast table. A new baby - a baby, after nearly fifteen years - it was coming at the end of the year, and it was wonderful exciting news. Everyone was thrilled, particularly Candy, but no one seemed to notice that Beth's happiness was fake. She was pretty sure she'd done an awful job of faking it, too, so she wondered if anyone would have even noticed if she hadn't bothered to pretend.

She still wondered what was wrong with her. If everyone else was so happy, why couldn't she be happy too? Instead, for about two weeks she'd awoken each day with the feeling that maybe it just wasn't worth it to get out of bed. Really, when she thought about it, she had no purpose in life - other than school, she did nothing at all. If she wasn't in school one day, then her day had no schedule or plan whatsoever. Her mother had noticed, freaked out a little bit, and finally informed her that she was going to start seeing a doctor to find out what was wrong. She made it sound like a threat, so that was how Beth took it: a threat to herself, her privacy, and her self-perception. What if he decided she was crazy? Beth was pretty sure she wasn't, but if she gave the wrong impression, maybe she'd end up being institutionalized or something due to a big misunderstanding.

Fortunately, Dr. Mortimer hadn't been like that at all. The relief was so huge upon realizing that she wasn't going to be committed somewhere that she had, just like that, started to feel better. The baby, though four months away from being born, was still a constant presence in the house; Beth still felt dull and unhappy each time she thought about it. But at least one day a week during her summer break, she had something to schedule into her day.

Lying in bed that night, half-asleep, a memory came to her suddenly: a different night, years earlier, in Candy's bedroom. Falling asleep on the mattress that was laid out on the floor for her, uncomfortably aware of her older sister's resentment at having to give up expensive Christmas gifts, she'd nevertheless been dozing when Candy had suddenly said softly, "You know why they sent you away?"

"Huh? I mean... what?"

"They only wanted two kids," Candy had answered, still in a soft, almost kind voice. "Three was too many, and once you got to be old enough they decided to fix that mistake."

Beth knew Candy was just upset, and saying horrible things to get back at her. She knew it wasn't true - or that was what she'd told herself at the time, when she was seven and trying her best not to get sick with missing her family. She'd tried so hard not to believe it that she hadn't even remembered it, at least not consciously; but _had_ she believed it? Was she upset because all this time she'd thought that her parents had only wanted two children, but the baby was proof that all along... it had really just been that they hadn't wanted _her_?

That was stupid, Beth decided. She shut her eyes and rolled onto her side, and managed not to think about it anymore.

* * *

She never did tell Dr. Mortimer - or anyone, for that matter - that she was upset about the baby. It would be like admitting to a dark side of herself, and admitting to it meant that it existed and was more a part of her than she cared to believe. If she kept it all inside, then it wasn't real, and she preferred it that way. She wrote a number of poems, then destroyed them; and for another few months she continued with her visits to Dr. Mortimer and kept getting a sense of satisfaction out of them even though she didn't believe they were particularly productive.

Her mother was constantly at her to tell her what they talked about, which Beth would not do. It wasn't that there was anything private being said, it was just that her mother never let her do _any_thing without being a part of it, and Beth was determined to keep this to herself. At times, in her moments of deepest frustration with Irene, she thought that it sort of served her mother right, in a way. _She_ had been the one to insist that Beth see a therapist. So now Beth was doing what her mother wanted, but that didn't mean that her mother had the right to be _in_ on it.

It was a mean thing to think. Every time she thought that, she felt sick with herself a few hours later. She wondered why she couldn't just love her mother, and why they couldn't get along the way Candy and her mother got along. It wasn't as if Beth had asked for this... she'd never asked for anything.

Her visits with Dr. Mortimer continued, never seeming to change, and she started a new semester at school and began to feel better. With more to occupy her day, she had more to talk about, and she used some of her time with Dr. Mortimer to discuss things like her choice of majors and her possibilities for her future - things she didn't seem to be able to talk about with her family. He listened, he gave advice, and he left the choice up to her.

In his turn, he made vague suggestions that she join a club or two on campus and try to branch out with her hobbies. Beth responded with equally vague acknowledgements of his ideas, and a promise that she'd "look into it". Socially, she wanted to stay where she was, since trying to get involved with other people had only given her grief in the past. Sure, she was lonely... She wouldn't deny that, if asked outright. But reaching out to others didn't seem like something she could do just yet. Maybe if she just waited, someone would come to _her_, and that would save all the trouble.

It was all fine for a few months - in fact, for most of the fall semester at school - until the morning in November when she came downstairs for breakfast, shuffled past her heavily-pregnant mother and favoured older sister at the kitchen table, and stepped into a trap.

Irene, who had been deeply engaged in her reasonably common routine of braiding Candy's hair, lifted her eyes for a moment towards her younger daughter and said, "Pet, I was hopin' ye could tell me t'day how yer counseling sessions're goin'."

"They're fine," said Beth, searching the refrigerator for the peanut butter. She found it, and dragged it out along with the bag of bread.

"An' ye feel like yer makin' progress?"

Beth had no idea what that was supposed to mean, since she didn't have anything to progress _towards_, but it was easier to go along with it. "Oh yeah. Definitely."

"That's good." A pause, and Beth realized belatedly that something bad was coming and that instead of defusing it with non-commital comments, she'd encouraged it. "Based on what he's been sayin' t'_me_, I wasn't at all sure that Doctor Mortimer was a good match for ye. But if yer happy-"

"What?" Beth paused halfway to the toaster with two slices of white bread still in her hand. "What's he been... I mean, he said something to you?" He wasn't supposed to do that! _Was_ he?

"Oh, just a few t'ings here an' there." Irene's voice was too light.

Candy, who had been quiet until now, said "Sheesh, Ma, just spit it out already. This is like cruel and unusual punishment." She felt the back of her head to make sure her braid was secured, then turned around in her seat to watch the family drama unfold.

Frowning a little bit at Candy's words, Irene gave an inch more: "I just felt that, after a few months o' therapy, his assessment of ye was a bit... harsh."

"I - had an assessment?" Beth wasn't actually sure anymore if she was still holding the bread; she had to look down to make sure the slices were still in her hand. She'd been graded, and not informed? That was not possible; this had to be some kind of ploy on her mother's part to pry some information out of her. She frowned, and went back on her way to the toaster. "Okay, sure. And I guess he told you all about me and all my little quirks."

"Oh no, pet. It was all minimal information, just the basics, like."

Candy chuckled. "Quirks. Like we don't already know all about those," she said in a low voice, obviously still meant to be overheard.

Beth ignored her. "And just what are the basics?"

She'd expected Irene to be getting frustrated by now, but instead her mother seemed downright smug - almost triumphant. "Well, I'm hesitant t'say. _But_," she said, with no real hesitation at all, "certainly not all of it was bad."

"Oh, not all? That's good," said Beth vaguely. She stared at the toaster, feeling infuriated and trying to seem as though she was barely listening. This was all a lie anyway; she would not be bothered, no matter what was said.

"Mmm, indeed! I remember he said ye were brilliant," Irene said proudly - the pride in her voice was really unmistakable, and for a moment Beth was shaken by it - and then she continued with an almost gleeful note of regret, "but indecisive. Never able t'make up yer own mind about t'ings without lookin' to others, that kind o' thing."

Beth felt a little cold hand crawl up her spine as she remembered her seemingly endless conversations about her class selections and what to choose as her major; even now, she hadn't completely made up her mind. But no - surely not. That was a coincidence, right?

When she didn't answer, Irene said, "Really, th' only thing that actually bothered me was when he said y'have no real regard for yerself. No mother likes hearin' that." She looked at Beth with large, worried eyes. "Y'do _like_ yerself, don't ye, Bethie?"

The toast popped up, and Beth grabbed a slice in each hand and fled the room with a burning feeling in her throat.

* * *

A few days later, her baby brother was born. She came home from her classes as usual to find the house empty; eventually she discovered a note on the refrigerator that said "Gone to hospital, will call soon!" No more than that, no time of departure or anything, though she supposed they probably were a bit preoccupied when they'd gone. She tried to make herself some dinner, failed miserably at heating up leftovers, and finally had a bowl of cereal and some toast as her evening meal. An hour and a half later her father showed up to bring her to see her mother and the new baby.

Things were chaotic for the next few weeks, and Beth was glad enough to skip her appointments with Dr. Mortimer. The decision to stop going all together was never really discussed, precisely; when Edgar was about 6 weeks old, her parents asked her if she really wanted to go back, and she shrugged and said not really, and that was that.

In truth she felt a little lost; she didn't want to face Dr. Mortimer, but at the same time, she felt locked out of her family and now she didn't even have someone who was being _paid_ to listen to how she felt. Her classes didn't excite her and her mother barely seemed to even notice her most days. There was only one thing that made the months bearable, and that was the new baby, Edgar.

She hadn't adored him at first sight. Well, aside from the fact that he was a baby, and it was impossible for her not to coo over him - but beyond that, he'd been a stranger the first few weeks. What had changed it was that Beth, being around most of the time and lacking any social life to speak of, became the de facto babysitter. And this meant that over time, she and Edgar got to know one another. She knew what his faces meant, what he was saying with his various noises, and exactly what temperature he liked his bottles. She read to him, sang to him (only when no one else was around), and tried to teach him how to say "I like cheese" in as many different languages as she could.

Sometimes, while her mother was out grocery shopping and she and Edgar were the only ones in the house, she felt like it was just the two of them against the world; as he reached out and grabbed her bill, drooling nonstop, she promised them both that she'd never let anything happen to him, that she'd make sure he grew up the right way. It was perhaps a silly thing to think of an infant, but she was sure that just as much as she understood Edgar, he understood her as well.

* * *

**Now**

"So, how did you like the rest of your undergraduate studies?" Dr. Mortimer asked her, and she snapped out of her thoughts with a jump. When, she wondered, had she gone from feeling as if Edgar was her only true family member into just considering him an easy-to-get-along-with almost-stranger? It was sad, what time could do.

"Oh, um..." She rubbed at the side of her face a little, trying to put herself back into that headspace and remember the rest of her college years. They were sort of a blur, once Edgar had been born: after an unsuccessful attempt to move onto campus when she was 16, she'd sort of shut some part of herself down and put it to sleep until she was of age to move out on her own. "It was... it was great, I guess," she offered unconvincingly.

"What does 'I guess' mean?"

Beth gave a quiet sigh of frustration, and then hoped maybe Dr. Mortimer hadn't heard it. How could she explain it? It wasn't a painful memory, it was just something she glossed over - two years' worth of nothing, really. She'd fought with her mother and sister, her older brother had graduated high school at last, Edgar had grown, her father had stayed the same. She'd been waiting, she realized now. She'd spent two years waiting to leave.

"It means I don't really remember it all that well. So I guess it wasn't great, it just... was."

She waited to see how he'd respond to that, what questions it would raise. Instead he just said, "I see," as if he understood perfectly; Beth wondered if he did, or if he was just paid to sound like he did. It didn't even make much sense to _her_. He went on: "What's the next thing you do remember well, then?"

"Moving out," she answered. "I left on my 18th birthday."

"Was it a positive event?"

"It was for me." She remembered it well, in fact; she had taken only two bags and a box of personal belongings, and she'd spent the entire day with her head in the clouds, revelling in her freedom. It had taken a while for that giddiness and optimism to fully wear off, too. "My mother and I fought a lot, leading up to that point, and by the time I left I was just... _so_ ready to get out of there."

"How did she take it?"

"Oh, well, I mean... not that well, but after all, it's not like I snuck out in the night or anything. I told her I would leave that day, and then we didn't speak for almost a week, but by the time I left she'd gone back to acting like nothing had happened. So she got up that morning to kiss me goodbye and stuff. And she wrote me a lot of letters."

He nodded. "Do you still feel now the way you did then, about leaving?"

Beth considered this; she'd been young, mistakes had certainly been made, but... "Yes. I really do. I think if I'd stayed there, I'd have lost myself completely. I mean, I love my mother - I love my whole family, but..." She trailed off. She wasn't exactly sure what she was trying to say; it had something to do with identity and independence, but she couldn't quite formulate it. "Well, I might have done things differently, but I'd still have left then if I had it to do over."

Dr. Mortimer smiled and made a little note in his notepad. "That's a wonderful thing to hear from you, Beth." He looked at the clock; they had about five minutes left. "Well, we're getting towards the end of our time; was there anything you wanted to bring up before we call it a day, or do you want to break it off early this evening?"

Five minutes? It wasn't enough time to really talk about her situation at home - in St. Canard, that was - which gave her a huge sense of relief coupled with a mighty sense of guilt. She decided that she would mention it now, then, so that they would be sure to talk about it the next time. Certainly they would. She opened her mouth to speak.

And something stopped her. She didn't know what, but she couldn't quite give voice to the thought. Instead, she was silent for a moment; then she asked softly, "Um, Dr. Mortimer? May... may I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he answered, all warmth and caring.

Beth had to struggle a bit, because she wasn't certain what she was going to say until she said it, but what came out was, "When I was here, ten years ago... Did... did my mother ask you what we talked about?"

Dr. Mortimer paused - Beth actually _heard_ the silence - and then he said, "She did, actually. Several times."

"Did you ever tell her?"

"No," he said directly. "There's a doctor-patient confidentiality clause that we follow, and so I don't repeat any of the things my patients say to me. I suggested that she ask you, if she wanted to know, and that you would tell her if you thought it was appropriate to share."

That all didn't sound right, though. "Then what?" Beth prodded.

When he answered, he was much less direct. "Well, she kept asking, and she told me -" He stopped, and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Beth. She told me that she was afraid you were going to harm yourself, and that she needed to know what sorts of things we talked about, just to put her mind to rest."

Ah, the secret-breaker. Beth knew that was there: the doctor-patient confidentiality could be broken if the patient was a threat to their own self, or to someone else. Which she never had been, of course, and her mother knew it, but her mother _had_ to be in on _everything_. "So you told her?"

"I didn't tell her what we spoke of. But, under those circumstances, to ease her mind, I told her some of the conclusions I'd come to during our sessions." He sounded the slightest bit guarded, she thought. "That's actually standard for most of the parents of my patients."

Beth nodded slowly. "And you told her that I was... brilliant but indecisive? And that I had no regard for myself?"

Dr. Mortimer sat up a bit straighter in his chair. "Well, without having your old file in front of me, I don't think I could tell you exactly _what_ I said. But those don't sound like words I would use." Beth looked into his face, and for one moment their eyes met; she looked away quickly, out the window just past him. He added, "I do recall that I concluded you had very low confidence and self-esteem."

The other words did sound more like her mother's translation than an actual quote from Dr. Mortimer, now that she thought about it. But knowing that didn't help Beth, because it didn't change the fact that he had talked about her behind her back - conspired with her mother. Just as she'd always thought he had. She pressed her mouth into a tight little smile for a moment, and said with difficulty, "That always really... bothered me."

"Did it?" Dr. Mortimer sounded genuinely surprised, and a little concerned. "I apologize - as I said, it's standard practice under normal circumstances to let the parents know -"

"But you... you didn't let _me_ know," she said. "I mean, _I_ was the one you were talking to. _I_ was the one with the problems, right? Doesn't it make more sense to let me know what those problems _are_?"

"Beth, it's not my job to tell people what's _wrong_ with them," he said, gently. "I wanted to help you identify what was making you unhappy, and work with you to find ways to fix those things."

Beth nodded. "Okay. I mean, that makes sense. It's just... you made it seem like we were... I don't know, _friends_. Sort of. And it wasn't about therapy in here, it was just about talking, and then here comes my mother telling me everything you said about me, and it turns out it _was_ all therapy after all and I have all the personality problems in the textbook."

"I'm sorry it got turned around that way. That's not at all how I saw our sessions. And you certainly never had personality problems-"

"It's... it's okay," Beth said, suddenly eager to put an end to this confrontation; it was making her very uncomfortable, and she didn't think that was the point of confessing an eleven-year-old secret. "Look, I just wanted to say something, because it was... kind of a shock, is all."

"Now, don't deny your feelings." Dr. Mortimer's voice was insistent. "It upset you, and that's important. And it's important that you realize that's okay. Don't just write it off as 'a shock' if it bothered you enough to say something all these years later."

"Well, it - it's really not..." Beth really wished now that she hadn't said anything. "Can we just forget it?"

Dr. Mortimer answered, "We can if you really, truly don't think it's important - but I'd like to ask you two questions, if I could."

"I guess..."

"Thank you. First of all: did it hurt your trust in me?"

She fidgeted, and decided at this point it was best to just be honest. He'd probably know if she wasn't; by this time he'd probably figured out that this was the reason she'd stopped coming to see him. "Well, yeah. I mean, I _did_ trust you, and... then I couldn't tell if you'd just been telling my mom every little thing, or what, so..."

"I never did," he said solemnly. "My second question is, do you trust me now?"

After a pause, Beth said, "No. Not really."

He didn't answer, but he wrote something down on the pad he kept with him, and Beth's stomach turned.

"What - w-what did you just write down?" she asked, the words coming so quickly she couldn't have kept them in if she'd tried.

"Hm?" he looked up. "It's just for my notes-"

"Okay..." She almost let it go, but then changed her mind. "But - but when do I get to see what's in these notes? Don't I have a right to know? I mean, did you just write down that I - I have an attitude problem, or that I'm paranoid and out of touch with reality, or...?"

He seemed for a moment like he was about to laugh. "Of course not. I just wrote what you told me, that you're having problems trusting me. I write down everything I think might be important."

"And then what?"

"Then I go through my notes and try to put together some talking points to bring up with you."

She should let this go, now. She knew she should. He was her therapist, wasn't he supposed to take notes? And it was really unlikely that the notes said anything personal about her, like that she was unreliable or vicious or... something else... She opened her mouth to let him know it was fine, and instead she said, "Okay, and then what? I mean - I mean, what else do the notes say? When you come up with talking points, aren't you really diagnosing what's wrong with your patients?"

"Well, no-"

"Can I see the notes?" she asked suddenly, cutting him off again. That suddenly seemed like the best possible answer, the only way she could really put this to bed. Once she knew what he was saying, she could relax, and all of a sudden she was terribly afraid that he was going to answer "no". She was so wound up about it that he hadn't even answered yet when she said again, "I think I have a right to, I - I mean, they're about me and I'm the one paying you, and-"

"Beth. Of course you can see them. Keep in mind, though, they're not exactly coherent to anyone but me." He turned the pad around in his hand, and leaned forward to pass it to her.

She took it by the bottom of the pages, feeling nervous and exhilerated and scared all at once, and looked it over. The page was almost incomprehensible, and she felt disappointed more than anything else. "O. sis attn games" was one scribbled notation, and something that looked like "Combat Meth"; about half of the page was filled with this sort of thing, random words and abbreviations that didn't gel into much of anything. The last note read simply "Trust issues".

Dr. Mortimer said, "That's incomplete - I usually transcribe the notes at the end of the week and put them into a file on my computer. If you like, at your next visit I can give you a print-out that will make a little more sense."

"Trust issues?" she asked, not really hearing him. "What does that mean?"

"Well," he said slowly, "given some of the things you've told me, I think you have some trouble trusting people, and I think maybe we might like to talk about that later."

She blinked, frustrated. "Wait, wait, what? What do you mean, I have 'trouble' trusting people?"

"It's just something I've noticed in some of what you've said."

She shook her head. "I don't have a problem trusting people. In fact I trust people too _easily_ - _that's_ my whole problem. I trust them and it blows up in my face over and over."

Dr. Mortimer nodded quickly, but he managed it in a way that showed that he didn't think that was the whole story. "That was definitely a pattern in your youth, but-"

"And _always_!" Beth cried. "I _wish_ I didn't trust people!" She was getting angry, she realized; she couldn't help it, she felt backed into a corner, and she was still so tired... "Sometimes I think it would be better to see everyone as some kind of predator, but I _can't_, I never learn, and that's how it always is!" Riding on her own momentum, she finished, "Don't you think you're taking what I said about YOU a little bit personally?"

And she'd done it again, for the second time that day: she'd gotten upset, and something nasty had come out of her mouth without her meaning it to. At least this one wasn't in the league of what she'd said to Launchpad, but if she'd had the choice of who she'd rather _not_ say something rude and hurtful to, Launchpad would have won that one. She sat back, suddenly silent, afraid of what might happen now.

To her surprise, Dr. Mortimer smiled; in fact he almost laughed. "No, Beth, I don't blame you for feeling that way about me. I should have spoken with you _and_ your mother at the same time; I handled that badly, and I can only say I'm sorry. Your mother, ah, she can be a little... off-putting."

For a moment Beth could only sit and take that in; then she relaxed, and she was the one nearly laughing. "I can relate," she said. "Um - sorry, I got carried away, but..."

"No apologies are necessary," he assured her. "You may well be right, and I might be seeing phantoms in the shadows. We haven't had much of a chance yet to talk about what's been bothering you lately, and I'm not sure what direction to take until we do. I'm just looking for leads where I can find them."

"Okay." She felt better about a few things, but she still felt that there was something uncomfortable - downright unsettling about the "trust issues" accusation. And it certainly felt like an accusation, even though Dr. Mortimer certainly hadn't meant it that way. "Well... I've been meaning to talk to you about... stuff, but..."

"Take your time, Beth." He was so congenial about it that, for a moment, she really _wanted_ to tell him about Drake and Launchpad. But she still wasn't _sure_. "There is one thing I'd like to say, though, if you don't mind?"

"Oh - sure," she answered, glancing at the clock; they were five minutes after their usual stop time.

"Well - I hope this won't come across the wrong way, but it will be hard for you to gain very much from therapy sessions if you don't trust the person you're talking to. I don't suppose there's much I can do to change your opinion of me at this point, but if that's the case, you should probably consider seeing someone different. I can give you some references, if you want."

Beth blinked in surprise; she wasn't sure how to take this. It stung a little, actually; it felt like rejection. "I - I um..."

He seemed to see into her, and know already what she was thinking. "This isn't personal, Beth," he stressed. "This isn't about me, or my feelings, or my opinions on you. I want you to be helped, and if I'm not the one best equipped to do it, I don't want that to hold you back. You're not tied to me. Do you understand?"

She did; the burden of rejection lifted a bit, but there was still a sadness. She realized that, in fact, she _was_ tied to Dr. Mortimer. Trust or not, she liked him, just as she had when she was a teenager. Going to someone else felt like tossing him aside. She shook her head. "No, I... I'm not sure how well I could... trust _anyone_. I- I mean-" She was alarmed to hear herself essentially echoing the diagnosis she'd just vehemently denied. "I mean in this situation. I... I think it would be about the same with someone else."

"Are you sure you don't want a list of a few names? You could call around a bit."

"No. No, I'm alright. I want to come back here." She could try harder, she thought. He had said it wasn't personal, but she still felt guilty giving up on him. She would try harder to tell him, and to trust him as he had said was so important, and things would work out just fine.

Dr. Mortimer nodded, a short decisive nod that seemed to say 'Okay, then.' "Then I'll see you next week?"

"Right. Have a good night."

On her way out, Beth marvelled at how, exactly, she had managed to commit herself to seeing a doctor she'd previously resented and mistrusted, and wondered what that said about her. Maybe - she couldn't quite repress a snort of laughter as she got into the car, and she tried to pass it off as a sneeze - maybe she should ask her shrink.

* * *

On the way home from Dr. Mortimer's office, Beth noticed the shadows in the streets. Already they were different from how they'd been this time of the evening when she'd come to her parents'; time was passing, as it always did, and she really had been gone a long time. Her poor plants, she thought. She didn't think of Launchpad, or of when she'd be going home, or of Drake and whether he thought of her from time to time. Instead she thought about her mail piling up and the milk in her fridge that would be sour by now. It was all quite depressing - rather satisfyingly so.

Even though she wasn't very hungry and was extremely tired, she stayed downstairs for dinner just to please her mother. She felt oddly like she owed her mother something now; forgiveness or redemption, and the sad reality was that one afternoon and a tearful conversation couldn't magically create either one. Only time would, and Beth wasn't certain that it wasn't already too late for that... But it was nice to know, that was true. It was nice to finally know why, after all these years.

Irene smiled at her as she passed the potatoes along the table, and Beth did her best to smile back. If only it had come earlier. If only she'd come more often, maybe it would have. If only she enjoyed being here with her family more. If only, if only; if only she hadn't used Launchpad as a scapegoat for a hundred other things this morning.

She made it to nearly eight o'clock before she felt it was reasonable to go to bed. Even then, it was so early that she felt a silly need to invent a reason, some other activity that she would be doing behind her closed door rather than just going to sleep early; she ended up telling her family that she would be proof-reading for an hour, and the unexcited reaction she received confirmed to her that her excuse had been pointless.

She hadn't been in her room more than five minutes, and was just settling down under her covers, when the door swung open and Candy's silhouette was framed in the light from the hall. "Hey, I thought you were writing or something." Before Beth could stammer out anything in her defense, Candy shrugged. "Oh well. Phone's for you."

Beth sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Who is it?"

"I don't know, he didn't say and I didn't ask. You wanna come downstairs or take it up here in Mom and Dad's room?"

Beth was stymied; no one knew the phone number for her parents' house... except her office. She'd given it as her current contact number after she'd been gone for about a week, once it had become clear she wasn't going back to St. Canard any time soon. Panic began to gnaw at her stomach; she didn't know why her employers would call her after 8 pm, but it couldn't be good. "I'll - I'll take it up here," she said, pushing herself out of bed.

She leaned against her parents' bed, composing herself, before picking up the phone. She was going to be fired; all the work she'd put in to catch up the past two weeks had been too late, and the quality had been sub-par, and... "Hello, this is Beth?"

"Oh, boy, am I glad to hear you!"

Beth's expectations were so strong that, for quite a few seconds, she couldn't figure out who the speaker was. The voice was familiar, but who at her office was it, and why would he sound so relieved...? With a jolt, she realized who was actually on the phone. "Launchpad?" she asked incredulously, too surprised to be nervous.

"Yeah! I've been tryin' to get you all day!" He didn't sound angry, she noted, even as her mind raced.

"But - how - I didn't leave my number here, what...?"

"Oh," he said, and chuckled self-consciously. "Yeah. I, uh, I just started callin' all the Webfoots in the phone book for the Duckburg area. Started around four o'clock or so."

"Oh my lord." Beth slumped against her parents' bed. Launchpad chuckled again, and a moment later, Beth found she couldn't help giggling. "You've - you've been calling strangers all evening?"

"Well - I took a break for dinner..."

"Oh, _lord,_" she managed again. Emotions washed over her in a swarm, and she couldn't identify most of them, they passed so quickly: relief, giddiness, guilt, fear, and a thick kind of misery that lodged in her throat. With her next breath, she was crying.

"Oh, uh, okay. Wait," said Launchpad desperately - he'd noticed right away, obviously, and she'd known he would - and he continued rapidly: "Look, see, I know you prob'ley don't want to talk to me, but I just wanted to say I'm sorry for this mornin'. I really didn't mean to-"

She gave a little rasping sob, trying to pull herself together, and croaked, "Please, stop." He kept trying to apologize over her, so she cleared her throat and said it again. "_Stop_, please. You _can't_ apologize, Launchpad, that was all me. Okay? Honest. I- I was - I had a b-bad night and I-I took it out on you... And, and I know I shouldn't have, and I'm so, so sorry, but please don't apologize to _me_."

"Aw, but..." He paused. "But I was insensitive. And I made you cry," he finished in a lower voice.

She laughed a little; despite her tears, her amusement was actually genuine. "_Everything_ makes me cry right now," she said sheepishly. "_Cheese_ makes me cry."

"Really? Cheese? Huh." He sounded, if anything, a little intrigued. "Well... I don't want you to cry. 'Specially not because of me."

Beth sniffed and wiped at her eyes, obediently trying without conscious thought to quell her tears. "It's not because of you. Honest. I - I just feel so _bad_ for what I-"

"Y'know what? We all have bad days sometimes." He cut her off, but warmly. "Let's just say we're both sorry, an' it's over now, huh?"

"But - but I said such awful-"

"Yeah, but didja mean it?"

"No! Of course not!"

"See? I knew ya didn't."

Beth was, again, taken by surprise. That was it? It was so... _simple_. How was it so simple, when it had never been with anyone else? "Are you sure?" she asked, almost suspiciously.

Her tone must have confused him, because he sounded a little wary when he answered. "...I think so... Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know..." she admitted. They laughed again, and then she had to struggle not to cry again, and she sat down and leaned against the bed and wondered why she still hurt so much when he'd told her everything was fine.

"Anyway," he said finally, "I also wanted to say, don't worry about callin' for a while."

"What?" She was stung by this; it seemed like the opposite of what he'd been leading to, and was the second such rejection she'd had today. "Why not?"

"I mean, call if you wanna," he amended hastily; she hadn't thought the anxiety was so clear in her voice, but once again, he'd heard it. "I just mean - uh, well, I guess I've kinda been pressurin' ya lately."

"Well- no," she said, but it was halfway a lie; she had felt pressured, though mostly from herself.

He went on. "So I just thought I'd tell ya not to call until you really feel like you wanna. Okay?"

"Okay." She was not going to cry again. She was tired of crying, and this time she couldn't even tell what she would be crying over. Regardless, a tear slid down her cheek without her consent; it was, happily, the only one of its kind.

"Any thoughts on when you're comin' home?" Amusingly, Launchpad didn't seem to consider this "pressuring" in the same vein as having Beth call him. Beth smiled.

"I don't know yet," she said.

"Okay. Just thought I'd check. Oh, hey, hang on a sec." The receiver gave off a muffled, fumbling noise; evidently he'd pushed it against his jacket for a moment. She could hear voices in the background, then he returned. "Hey, DW wants to say somethin'."

Panic bit its way through her. "What? Wait-"

But he'd already handed the phone off, and a second later, Drake's achingly familiar and deeply-missed voice began, "Hi."

"Um hi."

"Soooo," he said, almost unnaturally casual, "everything going... well?"

"Oh. Um, sure." She wondered what he knew what Launchpad had told him. What did he think was her reason for running off the way she had? Did he know it was because of him?

While she was wondering this, he didn't speak; and after a moment she realized that the natural pause had gone on too long, and she'd missed her chance to maintain a conversation. And the pause just continued to go on, as the rhythm of a normal conversation had been broken, and neither of them seemed able to jump back into it; she was desperate to end it, but nothing seemed right to say, and so the long silence just hung there between them. It was physically uncomfortable, and Beth began to squirm.

Finally, Drake cleared his throat. "Well! It's, uh... good to hear from you. By the way, just out of curiosity, you wouldn't happen to have a watering schedule for all those plants of yours, would you?"

She was so relieved to hear him speaking again that she completely missed any significance to this question. "Um, n-no, not... I mean, nothing special, just the normal kind of thing... Um... What do you mean, schedule', exactly?"

"Well, for instance, just _how_ much water do they need, anyway? I've been over there every other day, but it doesn't seem to be doing much good with most of them, so should it be daily, or "

"Every every _day_?" She was aghast; the implications were only beginning to sink in. "No! No, they only need to be watered once a week!"

"Uh..._huh_. Once a week. Well, uh, just a _thought_ - people who go on vacations might want to keep schedules out for those of us who are _not_ plant experts, so that we know what needs water _when_. I mean, not everyone is a botanist, for crying out loud."

She decided not to respond to his use of the term "vacation"; but she was afraid to ask just exactly what he was talking about. "O-okay... Um, Drake, by any chance-"

"Look, just don't worry about it, okay? The point's kind of moot now."

"Well.." She held her breath, and then asked it. "Why?"

He paused, and then said in a rush, "W-wellll, I mighta sorta killed them all. But," he added quickly, before Beth could do much more than feel her jaw fall open in dismay, "it's not _my_ fault! I mean, first of all, how many plants do you really _need_ in one house? Every time I turned around I'd find a new one! I practically needed an instruction manual just to know where to look! And besides, it wasn't _my_ idea to be stuck with plant-duty, that was _Gosalyn's_-"

"Plant-duty...?"

"Look, your mail was piling up, your newspapers were forming a pyramid on your lawn, and since we have a spare key we figured we'd at least make it less obvious that no one was there then Gosalyn got the great idea of doing chores, and anyway, look, if you want to use this as a learning experience, just keep in mind that next time you go away for more than a few days you should work these things out in advance."

"...Oh," she managed, and her face felt hot, and there was a huge lump in her throat. It wasn't fair she hadn't _asked_ him to do any of this, so why was he yelling at her..?

Drake let out a long, loud sigh, and then said, "Well, just come back soon and it'll all be okay."

Did that mean... that he missed her? Beth felt the clouds begin to part. She tried to hide a sniffle, and swallowed, then said, "Okay. Thanks for your help." And amazingly, she sounded just fine when she said it. As he said goodbye, and she echoed the sentiment, it really hit home that he'd been trying to help her. All the needless plant genocide aside, there was something touching about it... Though it certainly would have been nice if he could have just _done_ it, without having to come down on her for not making it easier on him.

Well, but then he wouldn't be Drake, would he? She had to smile a little at that, albeit ruefully. They really never would have worked together but that didn't change the way she'd felt about him.

Once she was back on the phone with Launchpad, she begged out of the phone conversation. With yet another apology, she explained that she suddenly felt exhausted; Launchpad was more than understanding.

"Okay, get some rest an' feel better, then come home soon. Right?"

She smiled a little sadly. "Sure." They said goodbye, and she hung up the phone, and she missed him with an aching feeling in her chest. She was still so surprised that he'd called her - and that he'd _wanted_ to. That he'd forgiven her, just like that. It had been so quick that he'd made the whole thing seem silly, blown out of proportion, and it made her wonder why she'd been so certain that he would hate her and that their friendship was over. Why hadn't she just trusted that he would listen to her if she called him to apologize?

And then the answer was suddenly obvious. She _didn't_ trust Launchpad.

She really didn't trust anyone.

The realization was so awful and jarring that it left her sitting on the edge of her parents' bed, too shaken to go move, for almost another ten minutes. 


	15. Act V, part 1

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_A/N: Hello again! Sorry for the length of the past two chapters. I'm going to TRY to keep the next ones shorter. No promises! I have a lot left to cover and I'm attempting to do it in four chapters. Plus probably an epilogue. Yes everyone - we are drawing close to the end. THANK GOD because this story ATE MY BRAIN. Just quickly: a bunch of characters look bad at various parts of this fic. Please try to remember that, as always, each scene is only from one person's POV, and each character sees things a little differently. And don't hate me! :D_

* * *

**Act V, part I**

Her full name was Candace Maureen Webfoot, though outside of her mother during moments of high drama, no one called her anything but Candy. She was 28 years old, soon to be 29, and all her life she had been intent on being a model. She had naturally blonde and shining hair, big blue eyes, and was what one scout had called "almost shockingly pretty"; she knew how to apply the makeup to turn that into "effortlessly beautiful". She had, through her life, held nine different pageant titles, including two consecutive wins of "Little Miss Potato Princess".

It was not easy, looking radiantly beautiful all the time, and even less so when an actual modelling _career_ seemed to continue to elude her. She'd had one potential agent suggest that she change her last name from Webfoot to "Cane", and that would get the contracts rolling in, but that agent had never moved beyond "potential" for just that reason. Candy Cane? That would make her sound like a bimbo. Aside from knowing exactly what kind of "contracts" would be sent her way with a name like that, Candy refused to dumb herself down that way. True, she wasn't at all forthcoming about her intellect, since she saw no advantage in it and even wanted to avoid looking _too_ smart - but there was no reason to court a reputation as a mindless piece of meat, either.

She woke up most mornings at 7:15, set aside her cooling gel eye mask, peeled off her overnight mud facial, and then tucked her still-braided hair up under a shower cap while she bathed. After emerging, she dressed and undid the braids, brushed her hair out, flipped it over and hung her head upside down to brush the underside of her hair out, and then applied the gel. Some mornings hairspray followed this, but since she was planning on having it braided today, she didn't bother. Her makeup followed, and by 8 am she was ready to go downstairs and have breakfast.

Upon her entry to the kitchen, she found a bump in her intended routine in the form of her sister Beth, who was sitting at the table having her hair combed and braided by their mother.

"Oh," said Candy, coming to a stop. She stood still for a moment, briefly at a loss, then said, "Morning. What's going on?"

"Oh, um, hi-" Beth tried to turn her head to face her, but their mother gently pushed her face back.

"Keep lookin' forward, pet, or it'll get uneven. Mornin', Candy, yer breakfast is near done."

"Okay." Candy hadn't asked about breakfast, and found it vaguely irritating that her mom was so clearly trying to change the subject. She decided to be directly to the point, which was something she was quite good at. "I need you to do my hair."

"Right _now_?" asked Beth, sounding slightly peevish. "But we're in the middle of - I mean, are you asking me to move, or..?"

"Well, _you_ don't have to be at work, that's all."

Beth made a weird little noise at the back of her throat and made a move to get up from the table, but she was stopped again by Irene. "Stay still, darlin', I'm only half finished. Candy, you can wait yer turn."

It seemed to Candy that some vital point was being missed by everyone but her. "But my _job_. I have a _schedule_. She doesn't."

"She asked first," said her mother rationally, and began humming to herself. Candy gave Beth a look, and Beth looked back for a moment, then fidgeted a little and stared at the surface of the table.

After a moment of lengthy silence, Candy decided to let it go. It was a dumb thing to get worked up over, anyway. "Okay, so whatever. I can do my own hair." She hesitated on her way back upstairs, and said over her shoulder, "Though really, logically, the person with an actual _schedule_ should be the priority, but whatever."

She heard Beth sigh loudly as she headed for the staircase, and her sister's next comment was dimly audible: "I _am_ working, you know!"

Of course Beth had totally missed the point, but there was no good reason to try to explain it to her. After twenty-whatever years, Candy knew that Beth would only see things the way she wanted to, so it was best to just let this kind of thing go.

She wasn't able to french braid her own hair, so instead she opted for a more rustic look and she gave herself two braids, one arranged cutely over each shoulder. This meant that she had to redo her eye makeup, something a bit lighter and more playful, instead of the darker shades she'd used to bring depth to her eyes. She was running five minutes late when she left for work, but didn't feel like holding that against anyone; she had a good boss, and he was willing to overlook the occasional slip in adherence to the schedule.

* * *

"So how long do you think you're gonna stay, then?" asked Candy that afternoon, as she made a left turn without using her turn signal.

Beth had been determined to keep a positive attitude today, but despite all her best efforts Candy seemed determined to derail her at every turn. Her attempt at getting some bonding time with her mother that morning had resulted in Candy leaving in a huff; then this afternoon she'd shown up and bustled Beth off in the car to her appointment, in such a hurry that it was clear how much she resented it. This question was just more icing on an already-overfrosted cake. Beth tried to answer it carefully. "I don't know, really. Probably not much longer."

"Have you actually _told_ your doctor what your problem is?" Candy asked bluntly.

The worst part of that question was the fact that, of course, Beth had _not_ done that. But she was going to today, so she refused to feel guilty. Still, she wasn't sure what to say that wouldn't compromise her privacy. "Mmm," she hedged. "We've gone over a lot of stuff."

"Oh, you totally haven't said ANYthing to him about it," Candy noted. The fact that she was right was utterly infuriating. "Look, I bet if you just _talked_ to someone about things you'd feel a lot better."

"Well, you know everything about everything, after all," Beth snapped. It seemed that, no matter how hard she tried with Candy, her older sister was always perfectly adept at pushing her until she got nasty.

As always once she'd reached that goal, Candy grew sullen and accusatory. "Boy, nobody can say _anything_ to you! Geez, Beth, I'm just trying to _help_!"

Insults and insinuations didn't feel like much help to Beth, but she regretted her words anyway. "I'm..."

Candy ignored the beginnings of the apology, and spoke over her. "I want you to get better and go home just as much as anyone else, too. It doesn't even occur to you that no one can get anything done with you moping around, either, does it? Nope. Never does."

Well, that was it then. Beth shut her mouth and crossed her arms, and didn't say another word until they reached Dr. Mortimer's office.

By the time they'd arrived, Beth had begun to feel less angry and more guilty. Despite how Candy had put it, there was some truth to her words, and she hadn't even thought much of it until now. As Candy parked the car, Beth took off her seatbelt in silence, and then offered, "You don't have to wait... I can get a cab or something to get home. I mean... I know you have things to do."

With a shrug, Candy said, "Not right now. I've got every other Tuesday afternoon off so I can take you out here." She didn't say anything else, just got out of the car, but Beth was surprised by her tone: it hadn't been accusatory, or resentful, or much of anything. It was just sort of cheerfully matter-of-fact, as if Candy was perfectly happy to sit in a waiting room for an hour until her sister emerged to go home.

Sometimes Beth wondered if she'd ever understand her older sister at all.

* * *

"Hi," she said as she walked into his office. Dr. Mortimer stood up and nodded at her, then sat back down again; this was what he did every appointment, and it was equally as perplexing as it was polite.

"How was your weekend?" he asked as she sat down.

Beth was only half-attending; she had an agenda today, and she really intended to stick to it. "Oh - um, fine. And yours?"

"Very nice. Well, did you have anything-"

"Yes," she said, taking a deep breath. "First, I - I owe you an apology for my behaviour the last time I was here."

With a smile, Dr. Mortimer said, "Don't worry about it. High emotions are a part of this job description. Oh, that reminds me, though: here are the notes I promised you."

"Oh." Beth felt guilty and uncomfortable as she took the two printed-out pages he was handing her. She glanced at them; they were double-spaced, in several paragraphs that took up about a page and a quarter. "Thanks." Should she read them now, she wondered? Her eye caught on the final paragraph, which concluded, "After the relationship with her mother evolved to be increasingly combative, Beth shows signs of difficulties trusting others." With a sigh, she handed them back. "You really didn't have to - I shouldn't have asked about these."

Looking concerned, Dr. Mortimer said, "These aren't what you wanted? I thought we would discuss them today." He waited a moment, then gently took the pages back.

"No, it's just..." She looked at her lap. "I just was being a jerk. Or... well, I _did_ want to know what you were writing, but... I shouldn't have made it seem like it was out of line. I don't know what I was thinking, I - I'm glad you take notes. And I'm glad you listen."

"Of course I listen." He smiled, and patted her hand. "Are you sure you don't want to look at these?"

"Not... not right now," she said. "I'm sorry, I made you print them out and now I'm-"

"Beth," he said with a laugh, "it didn't exactly take me an entire afternoon to print out a second copy of these notes." She smiled a little. "Look, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm happy to share my notes any time - I think it's very constructive. Whether you want to see them or not, it's fine."

She felt thrown off-guard; the plan had been to apologize, and then jump right into her situation with Launchpad and Drake, but she'd forgotten about the notes. She tried to pull herself together. "I think I'll take them home and look over them there, okay? But... but there's something I want to talk about today."

"Absolutely!" He sat back in his chair and waited for her to continue.

"Okay," she said, and needed to take another deep breath, "this... this is about why I came home." And having said that, she realized she had no idea where to start.

Dr. Mortimer waited for a few more seconds, then cocked his head. "Do you need a minute?"

Beth furrowed her brow. "No, I just... I need to gather my thoughts, I think." He nodded; his expression said 'Take your time.'

After a moment, she began. "The last time I was in here... I was having a really bad day." She stopped, and let that statement sit there as she tried to move on. "That's why I was behaving the way I did, you know. I hadn't slept well, I... Well, the night before I had done something really stupid, and then I slept badly, and..." She sighed. "I guess it wasn't so much that I slept badly but more that I stayed up late and, um... got kind of... drunk, see, and then I made a phone call that I shouldn't have, and the next morning I was all hung over and I got up early..."

"Why were you drinking?" Dr. Mortimer asked.

She shook her head. "I know, it was really stupid. It seemed like a good idea at the time, you know-"

"No," he said, and he chuckled a little, "I mean, what made you want to? I got the impression you don't normally drink very much, right?"

"Oh! Oh. Heh." She laughed a little too, embarrassed. "Well, I... I told myself it was to relax, but really, I think I kind of... wanted to drown my sorrows." Dr. Mortimer didn't say anything, and she knew she had to make the next move.

After a moment, she sighed and put her hand over her eyes. "I have no idea where to start on this," she said in a small voice.

"Too complicated?"

"Too _long_." Where did it begin? She couldn't begin to know. How far back should she go... and what should she say? _'Before I got the job I have now, I worked in a hardware store for three years, and one day...'_

With another sigh, she gave it a shot. "Okay, well... I have these two friends - neighbours - well, we were friends before we were - oh but you don't need to know that." Trying again, she said, "So. I have two friends who live a couple of houses down from me, and... um... well, what should I say... Oh - they're both men. Um, I've known them about a year, and... We see each other all the time. _Constantly_."

"All right."

Satisfied that she'd covered most of the bases, Beth nodded. "And... well, a while ago - back in August, something... happened... with both of them, on the same day." She was struck again by how awkward it felt, trying to relate an emotional reaction to someone who didn't even know everyone involved.

Dr. Mortimer asked gently, "Was there an accident?"

It took her so off-guard that, for the first few seconds, she couldn't parse what he'd just asked her. "Oh! Oh, no - nothing like that..." The misunderstanding made her even more aware of how trivial her situation would probably sound, and she cringed inwardly. "No, I mean - no one was hurt, just... Well, not _physically_."

"Oh." Although Beth suspected he was trying to appear relieved, Dr. Mortimer actually came across as rather confused.

"Look," Beth said, with another sigh, "maybe I should just take this one at a time, or something." She rested her elbow on her knee and put her hand up to her forehead, thinking for a moment, and then just jumped in. "Drake Mallard," she said. "One of the two guys is named Drake. And I - I fell in love with him."

She waited for an answer. There wasn't one, and as she lifted her face from her hand she understood that Dr. Mortimer couldn't answer; he was trying not to lead the conversation, but let her go at her own pace. Still, she'd feel more comfortable if he just said something... _any_thing.

Her statement was still hanging there, so she cleared her throat and went on. "I fell... pretty quickly, actually. Which I guess I usually do. He's... he's a little older than me, a single father, and, um... Well..." She trailed off, not sure what else to say - how to describe him, how much information to give. "Well, it didn't work out."

"Did he break things off?" Dr. Mortimer asked gently.

Which induced a sharp laugh from Beth, one that wasn't completely without an odd sense of amusement. "Sorry - no," she said, feeling instantly sheepish. "No, it - there was nothing to break off, we never..." Here, her throat unexpectedly closed up; she'd thought she was beyond this, but apparently not yet. Maybe not ever. With a deep breath, she managed, "Nothing ever happened. He, um... he made it clear that he wasn't in-interested."

"Ah." There was a silence after this, and if a silence could be kind, then this one fit that bill. After a few seconds of trying to pull herself together, Beth put a hand over her eyes. She heard a small scuffling noise, and checked to find that Dr. Mortimer had produced a box of tissues and was holding it towards her.

She took one. "Thanks," she said in a rough voice. He nodded, and she covered her eyes again, sniffling.

After a few minutes, he asked, "Am I right in guessing that Drake spoke to you about it just before you came here?" She nodded, wiping at her eyes, feeling exposed and uncomfortable. "And it was especially hard for you?"

"I- I guess... I m-mean, I don't really know what you mean by 'especially hard'..."

"Harder than you thought it would be?" he tried after a moment's pause. "Hard enough to make you feel like you needed to flee?" When she didn't answer, he asked in a lower voice, "Was he cruel about it?"

Again, it took her a moment to reply, and again she was in tears when she did it. "No," she said weakly. "He was... very, very nice about it."

Dr. Mortimer nodded. "Did that make it harder?"

Perversely, she realized now, it had. She nodded. "I don't know why, but... Yeah."

"How would you have expected a conversation like that to go, with him?"

Beth considered that; it wasn't a conversation she'd wanted to have, on any level, so she hadn't exactly planned it out in her head before. "Well, he... our relationship is kind of, um..." She didn't know how to say this without making Drake sound unpleasant; he was a hard guy to communicate with sometimes, but he had so many good qualities that the less good ones could be overlooked. Or so she'd always thought; but, now that she thought about it, what _had_ she expected? Drake's kindness, the things he had said, had been both wonderful and heartbreaking. They'd also been completely unprecedented, in the year she'd known him.

She tried again. "Drake and I, we don't... communicate well. He's - I don't know - I think I kind of, um, get on his nerves? Sometimes? And - and... It's like, the more I try to keep from doing that, the more he gets annoyed, so then he gets kind of sarcastic, and... that's how we usually..." Naturally, despite her best efforts, she was painting him badly. She backtracked a little. "He's not a bad guy though, really. He's really terrific, I mean, you should see him with his daughter - they butt heads all the time but he just loves her so much..."

"But we're not talking about Drake and his daughter. We're talking about Drake and _you_," Dr. Mortimer pointed out softly. "And about how he talks to you."

Beth hung her head. "I know it _sounds_ like he's a little rough on me," she said quietly, "but... it's just how we are. And I mean, I did _know_, from how we interacted, that we wouldn't..." She couldn't finish that thought, but surely it was obvious what she'd been wanting to say.

"You knew, but it didn't change things?" Beth nodded in response. "I'd like to ask a question, and I want you to think carefully about it before answering."

That sounded strange. Frowning, Beth said, "Okay..."

"Okay. You said you knew from how you and Drake interacted that you wouldn't work together as a couple. Is that what you meant?" When she nodded again, he said, "How did you know that?"

It seemed so obvious that she didn't think she needed to take the time to think, as he'd asked her to do. She answered right away, "Because we were always fighting. Well - no, not _fighting_, but our conversations were never - um, they weren't positive I guess. Well, no, what I mean is that we just had trouble communicating, and-"

"Wait a moment. Think about this for as long as you need, to get an answer together, okay Beth?" He smiled, and sat back in his chair.

So she did think. The question wasn't as simple as it had seemed. "Fighting" wasn't the right word at all for how she and Drake interacted; On the other hand, he never seemed to _agree_ with anything she said... or even, it sometimes seemed, _listen_ to her. Their conversations consisted more of her trying to figure out what she could say that would sound interesting and intelligent to him, and him responding with disinterest or out-and-out sarcasm... Certainly that wasn't their entire relationship, though, was it? They had good times - a lot of good times! Just recently he'd thanked her for helping on his case with the Liquidator, and...

Well, but she was supposed to be thinking about how she knew they were wrong for each other, not about how she could fool herself into thinking maybe they weren't.

"Well, it's because..." she began slowly, carefully. "Because when I was around him, I was always second-guessing myself. Everything I said, or did... As soon as I'd said or done it, I regretted it. I could only wonder what he thought of it, or how it made me look to him. He..." She had to stop, and take a breath. Breathing was getting harder, now, as her chest seemed to tighten with each passing moment. "It's not that _everything_ I said was... was _wrong_, or anything, it's only that - he never really said anything... positive, it seems." She shouldn't be saying any of this. Just saying it - just _thinking_ it - was dragging a thick, heavy blanket of guilt and sadness over her, stifling her.

"He was critical of you?"

Although she felt deep down in her soul as though she was betraying Drake, Beth nodded once. Another pair of tears dropped heavily down her cheeks, and landed on her lap. She took a deep, sniffling breath, and let it out. "He... he made me feel... bad about myself," she admitted finally. She'd never said it aloud. She'd never even thought it outright, but it had been there for a long time, lurking in the corners of her mind. She'd told herself that it was all her problem and her fault, that she was too sensitive, but now she had to admit that if Drake wasn't likely to change, neither was she. "Just... boring, and - and... foolish..."

Dr. Mortimer nodded. "It's okay," he said, and she understood that he was sort of giving her permission to cry. So she did.

"W-what is the matter with me?" she asked after a minute or two. "W-why do I k-keep falling in love w-with men who make me feel this w-way?"

"Do you feel like that's the case?"

Swiping at her eyes, Beth said, "Al-always - Noah and Cube, and now Drake is just the latest... And before him, too." She thought about it, then nodded. "Before Drake was the w-worst of all."

* * *

_Extra Notes: I feel like I need to explain about Drake... I don't intend to paint him as a bad guy, but I know based on this final bit he looks rather bad. It's just that I think he and Beth are two people who cannot possibly work out together - they're just not suited for each other. And basically, *Beth* needed to finally see that, too, and accept that if a guy makes her feel bad about herself - even if it's not on purpose - rather than think about how she should change herself so that he'll like her, she needs to accept that it's wrong, and move on. And so we've finally reached that point._


	16. Act V, part 2

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_A/N: Oh, it's a long one again - sorry. I even cut a planned scene out of this and it's still long. But we are getting down the home stretch; there's really only one more real flashback chapter after this :) Meanwhile, this one is probably the closest I will ever come to a crossover with "DuckTales". Also, spiffy me got to use a little (tiny!) bit of my own knowledge from my job in this chapter! (I work for a medical journal - editorial assistant though, NOT medical writing!)_

* * *

**Act V, part II**

June, 1985

With less than a month until her 18th birthday, Beth knew she had a limited amount of time to find a place to live once she moved out of her parents' house. And timing was tricky: she wanted to start soon, and get something lined up, but she couldn't do it too far in advance or else she'd be expected to move in before she was even moved out. Yet she didn't know how long it would take, and the fear that she'd be homeless for even a week was so intense that it had been torture to wait this long before heading to the housing boards at Duckburg University.

When she got there, she was instantly let down - it looked as if she'd waited too long already; there were very few opportunities posted. It occurred to her that she was off-season, since the school year had ended in May, and most ads would be for students temporarily sub-letting their rooms - and even that had probably ended a few weeks earlier.

She was staring in dismay at the listings on the corkboard, all of which were either out of her price range or starting in the fall, when a voice behind her said, "I thought I knew that ponytail! It's Beth, right?"

Beth turned in confusion, and found herself facing a classmate from one of her advanced statistics classes. All Beth's classmates were several years older than her, but since this class was among the credits she was trying to put towards her graduate studies, Sarah was probably closer to ten years older than her instead of just the usual four or five. "Oh, um... hi," she said, trying to sound casual, and then wondered why it seemed important that she do so. "I mean yes. Hi! Sarah?"

"That's me! What's Duckburg U's resident baby genius doing out here at the housing section?"

Beth forced a smile at that; she hated it when people called her that. It had become a semi-popular nickname for her among a handful of the grad students she'd become acquainted with, and unfortunately, Sarah was among them. "Oh, haha." Her effort at sounding amused fell pretty flat, or so it sounded to her; but she tried to move on anyway. "Well, just, you know... I'm turning eighteen soon, so..."

"So..? Oh!" A lightbulb seemed to flick on over Sarah's head. "You don't live on campus, do you?"

Beth shook her head. "And I thought, well, since I'm going to be done with my undergrad work in another semester, I should skip the dorms and just move into a house, you know, so that I don't have to move after I graduate. Even though I'll still be coming to Duckburg U for my grad studies, I mean, I'm not _going_ anywhere and I guess grad students are allowed to live on campus, but most don't, so I -"

"So you _are_ aware that it's nearly summer and all, right?" Sarah asked, cutting her off; Beth wasn't used to being interrupted, and it was surprising enough to throw her for a loop.

"Um, wh-what? I mean - yes, I know that, I just..."

"Not a lot of options I guess. What are you doing to do your grad work in?" The abruptness of the sudden topic shift seemed totally lost on Sarah; she cocked her head in interest.

"Oh, um... chemistry I think. I was considering botany, but -"

"Well, if you want to work in botany, you're at the wrong school. USC is the one with the high-marks botany program. But I guess, when life hands you lemons..." Sarah trailed off, chuckling to herself.

"B-but I just said I wasn't-" It was no use; Sarah tended to fly on all cylinders at once, and Beth couldn't keep up. She was like this in class, too, and chem wasn't even her passion; most of her focus was in engineering.

"So, having any luck? Summer's the time most people go _back_ to their parents, not set out on their own."

Relieved to be back on a topic she could keep up with - or at least, she thought she was - Beth said, "I know, but there's only so much parenting you can take, right?" She laughed, and Sarah sighed.

"Well, I guess so. You'd know, I suppose!"

Beth wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, though it hadn't felt like an insult, so she laughed. Sarah had a dry sense of humour, and she delivered a lot of her jokes with a completely straight face, so Beth couldn't always tell when she was joking. It was unnerving. On the other hand, she told some killer stats jokes. "Um, okay! Anyway, so... so yeah, I'm just looking for a place, I guess. Um, if you have any advice..."

Sarah shrugged. "Actually, funny you should mention that." She turned away, tugging at Beth's sleeve to induce her to follow. Beth came obediently, looking back at the board uncertainly as she followed. "Turns out we've got an opening for a roommate in the house I live in."

Beth gasped. "Really??"

"Mmm. It's just me and three others, we're all in the science department at Duckburg U, and we've got a corner room that's empty. There are enough of us there that we could cover it, but it would be nice to not have to worry about it."

"Sooooo..." She couldn't bring herself to ask, and hoped Sarah was about to offer on her own.

Slowly, casually, Sarah said, "So are you interested?" Before Beth could give her eager affirmation, Sarah added, "Since you're the newbie, you'd have to clean the place and do all the dishes. House rules."

There was a beat, as Beth tried to figure out if Sarah was serious. They stared at each other. Finally Beth stammered, "Oh, um, that's ok-"

"Just kidding," said Sarah flatly.

"But I would! I'd be happy to!" Beth exclaimed. As Sarah turned to start walking again, Beth trailed along behind her excitedly. "I'd clean or cook or whatever, anything, thank you! This is great!"

"You don't even know what the rent is, yet!" Sarah said. She sounded both amused and a little perplexed by Beth's exuberance.

Shaking her head, Beth said, "It's okay! I can get a work study and that'll cover it! Or - or if it doesn't, I'll work off-campus too! I'll be a _great_ housemate! I won't get in anyone's way, or - anything!"

Sarah smiled, and chuckled again. "You really are cute, you know that?"

* * *

A few weeks later, she began moving a few things into her new room, and thus visited for the first time. Previously, Sarah had been too busy to bring her by; she'd cleared everything with her housemates, but nothing had moved beyond that. Finally though, just about a week before Beth's birthday, she saw her room, saw her house, and met its occupants.

Or, met most of them. Standing in the small kitchen of the shared house, Sarah said, "Sorry, Dix isn't in - I swear he _said_ he'd be here this afternoon, so I thought today was a good day, but..."

"How often does Dix actually do what he says he'll do?" asked one of the two people Beth didn't know, and everyone except Beth laughed. Beth felt like she should react somehow, so she gave an uncertain laugh too.

"So! You remember Alli from stats, I'm sure," Sarah began, working her way around the room.

Beth nodded shyly, and waved. Alli, a blonde chickadee, smiled back. "So the baby genius is moving in! We should all go out for drinks to celebrate! Oh - except - I guess you can't yet, huh?"

"Um, not yet," Beth answered awkwardly. "B-but I could get a soda..."

Sarah pointed at the other person in the room, a duck with a receding hairline. "And this is Mark McQuilly," Sarah continued. Mark gave her a stiff little nod, accompanied by a kind smile.

"Nice to meet you," Beth said formally.

"Likewise."

"He's in marine biology," Sarah informed her.

Beth thought this sounded impressive, and figured she was likely expected to respond as such. "Wow! That's amazing! Really? Wow!"

"Well, I do still put my pants on one leg at a time," said Mark with a chuckle.

Everyone else laughed, and Beth turned slightly pink. "Well, I just, I mean, I've never met - you - you must know a lot about... fish," she stammered, and wished she'd picked a destination for that sentence before she'd started speaking out loud.

Mark blinked for a moment, as if waiting for something, and then said evenly, "Yes. I do."

"So," said Alli, "should we go out for dinner or what?"

Before anyone answered, the door swung open and a second man walked in. He was dark-haired and tall, with heavy eyebrows, white feathers, and small frameless glasses. He was wearing a tie that he'd loosened so that it hung askew around his neck. "Man!" he said, "That department meeting went on for_ever_! I thought I was going to have to tell those stuffed shirts to hand over-"

"Dix," said Sarah, somehow commanding his attention even over his deep, rich voice, "this is Beth, the new housemate I told you about."

He stepped forward with absolutely no recognition in his expression, and Beth found that she wanted to sink into the floorboards, though she couldn't say why. After a moment his face lit with a wide smile, and it was the most charming smile she'd ever seen; her heart skipped a beat.

"The house is now complete, with a lovely face like this one in it!" he said. He took her hand and held it, and for a moment Beth wondered if he was going to shake it or kiss it; she found she was breathless when he did give it a quick shake and then passed his thumb over the back of it, like a quick caress. "Audubon Dixon," he said, and his voice sent electric thrills through her, "but my friends call me Dix."

Beth stared at him in awe. "My pleasure," she mumbled, oblivious to the looks Sarah and Alli were giving each other.

* * *

Now

"Audubon Dixon?" Dr. Mortimer asked, sounding surprised.

"Y-yes," said Beth, taken aback. Dr. Mortimer didn't usually interrupt her when she related her past experiences, unless something was very meaningful. She couldn't see how the names of her roommates were that important.

"Is this the same C. Audubon Dixon in the biochemical field?" he asked, and she winced inwardly.

"Oh, you know him?" she asked, trying not to give anything away by her tone.

He shook his head slightly, dismissively. "Well, only insomuch as I know his research into biochemical factors of mood and personality disorders. He has an impressive bibliography in that area."

This was awkward. She would have to be careful what she said, then, although probably he would reassure her that she could say anything she wanted. But still, any accusations against Audubon Dixon were out of the question, as long as Dr. Mortimer actually knew who he was. She wished now that she'd used a different name or something, but it was too late.

"Mmm - well, when I knew him, he wasn't really quite into that field yet. He was still doing work in general physiological stuff," she said, and resisted the urge to go into detail about it; it wasn't important, although even in retrospect, the work she'd done with Dix and his group had been fascinating.

"Well, that's very interesting!" said Dr. Mortimer cheerfully. "I had no idea you'd rubbed shoulders with -" He stopped abruptly, apparently noticing something in her expression, because the next thing he said was, "Did something happen with him?"

"Oh!" she said, jumping a little; trying her best to downplay it, she said, "No, nothing - _really_. Just the usual business for me, I guess, um, you know... Well, I just - I lived in that house for the next three years or so, see, and..."

As she tried to figure out how to condense the complicated situation that had arisen, she thought back again to her grad work and all the stupid decisions she'd made while she lived in that house.

* * *

October, 1987

The Duckburg U library was Beth's favourite place to be by this time. It was quiet, it was low-key, and whether she was working or not she could usually find the time to pick up a book and learn something new. Plus, it was the perfect job for her: she was surrounded by things she loved, and she could be useful without having to interact very much with anyone else.

She still loved her classes, but the unstructured, untimed nature of her hours spent at the library was preferable.

Home, on the other hand, was awkward. She got along reasonably well with her housemates - Alli and Mark were always friendly, and Sarah often even made a point of inviting Beth out for social evenings. Occasionally, Beth even went - though a lot of the time the energy that it took her to go out and be around a bunch of people she didn't know well was just too much, and she begged out in favour of studying.

For the most part, though, the past two years had gone well in her shared house, with friends and good times. But then there was Dix.

Audubon Dixon had never been anything but kind and charming; and that was precisely the problem. Beth wanted to _know_ him, and she wanted him to want to know her. They spoke often, but not in depth; she clung greedily to every detail she could learn about him, but he was mostly indifferent to learning much of anything about her.

Deep inside she knew it was futile; it was just yet another man she'd come to love who did not know she was alive, and would never see her as more than a shadow off in the corner, behind the more interesting people. Yet she couldn't let it go; she had lived in the same house as Dix for two years already, and each day he was more interesting, more fascinating, more impressive than the last. She _had_ to figure out how to get his attention - she felt she would _die_ if he kept ignoring her forever. And it wasn't as if he ignored her completely; they spoke often, and he complimented her, winked at her, told little jokes that were clearly aimed just at her. She thought, sometimes, that he might even be flirting with her a bit. The problem was that he spoke that way to Alli, too, and even to Sarah (although Sarah clearly found it irritating when he did, and was more likely to just mutter in frustration than to respond)... And, probably, to every other girl he knew.

She had graduated, rather quietly, in January the year after she'd turned eighteen. Her family had come to the ceremony, naturally, and they'd had a nice lunch afterwards and then gone their separate ways again. Since then Beth had started her grad work, aiming for a Master's in chemistry, and in a few more months she would be done with the program.

The time was ripe, therefore, to take some kind of action - initiate something and find a way to get Dix's attention, to create some common ground between them.

Her plan was risky, but not greatly so. She would simply switch her career path from chemistry to biochemistry, begin pursuing her Ph.D. in that field, and work under Dix as her mentor.

It was brilliant. Granted, she hadn't worked in biochem before, but the main risk wasn't so much whether or not she would understand it so much as whether or not she would _like_ it. And, Beth figured, the important part was who she would be with, not what she would be doing. She thought of it all the time: long nights poring over experiments, writing up their hypotheses - she had some great ideas - she would wow him with her research, make some kind of amazing discovery for Dix and his group, and after a while... it would be inevitable that things would happen.

Brilliant, she was sure. Just right. At least, she hoped so...

She was shelving reference material, lost in thought, when all her mental meanderings came to a screeching halt at the sound of a loud crash, somewhere on the campus outside.

When she emerged from the stacks, students were moving about nervously, and there was a confused buzz of voices filling the air. A moment later someone ran in through the doors of the library and shouted, "A plane just crashed in the quad!"

The gathered students went crazy, yelling in alarm and making for the doors. "Did anyone call an ambulance?" one librarian asked loudly; she was barely audible over the commotion.

Then there was a reverberating BANG at the front, as the doors swung open heavily, and all talk went quiet.

An older duck walked in - if walked was the right word; it was more like he swept his way into the building, moving with all the confidence of someone who owned the place. Which, in a sense, he probably did; partially, at least.

"That's Scrooge McDuck!" whispered a student to the left of Beth.

Beth didn't need to be told that. The top hat and the spats were a pretty good clue, but she was well aware of Scrooge McDuck because his picture was all over the University; the duck was hotly pursued each year for a grant that he (reluctantly) awarded to fund the University. In exchange, of course, the school had to meet his standards, which was probably why the school was noted for its excellence in certain fields.

Scrooge McDuck was notorious for his temper and his high expectations. Beth hid behind the book stacks in the hopes she could stay unseen until he left.

Moving quickly, he approached the nearest librarian behind the circulation desk and said, "I need a book," he said authoritatively; his Scots accent was every bit as thick as Beth had heard tell.

Flustered, the librarian asked, "D-do you have a library card?"

He looked at her in a manner that made it clear that she was on the verge of losing her job. "Library card? It's because of me that this library was _built_, lass, so I think I'm entitled t'use its contents! Now do ye have m'book or not?"

"Uh, um, yes sir!" the librarian answered. From the look on her face, it was clear that she was at the point where she'd say anything she could to appease him, then pass him off onto someone else. "I think the best person to help you is... Beth!"

Beth winced, and tried to back farther into the stacks, but Scrooge McDuck turned around and saw her just as she tried to disappear. His eyes narrowed, and he strode towards her with the same intense sense of purpose as when he'd entered the building.

"Well?" was the first thing he said. Beth was overcome with terror, and couldn't answer. "I need any books ye have about the Treasure of the Sierra Mist, an' I need them immediately."

"The - the Sierra Mist? Um - but that's just a-"

"I know it's a legend!" he snapped impatiently. "I didn'a ask your opinion, I asked ye to do your job! If ye can't -"

Fear made Beth answer quickly, "No, no, I can find it! I know we have _something_, I've seen it!" She had, too; the only problem was that she couldn't remember _where_. But she was terrified that she would lose both her job and her stipend if she didn't get this right, so she moved forward with a facade of confidence, and said, "If you'll just, um, follow me, sir..."

She hurried to the card catalog, and Scrooge followed in her footsteps, his body language informing her that she wasn't moving fast enough. "Wh-what do you need it for? If you don't mind my asking," she said as they walked.

"I just saw proof that the legend is based in fact," he answered, and there was an excited tone to his voice suddenly. "I'm in a very important race to find that treasure first, an' I need all the information I can get. Ye _do_ have what I need, then? You're not just sayin' so? I get a lot of Yes Men, an' I have no patience for-"

"No sir, Mr. McDuck! No, no sir, i-it's here somewhere." She wanted to add something impressive, something positive - to say that she was a master of the card catalog, which was certainly true. But she couldn't; it would only raise his expectations, and there was the odd chance she would fail at this task. She pulled out a drawer and began flicking through the contents at high speed. To keep him from getting too impatient, she asked, "Um, was that your plane that crashed...?"

"Hm? Oh, aye, but we're used to it."

"_Used_ to it?" she asked aloud, though she hadn't meant to voice the thought - it was just such a surprising statement.

He snorted. "Believe me, lass, it's hardly anythin' new. M'pilot can repair it, or so he says..." He pulled out a pocket watch and checked it, then looked back at her.

Before he could ask, she said "I've almost found -"

A voice cut through the library, interrupting her. "Okay, Mr. McDee, I got 'er goin' again! I think Glomgold's got about a ten-minute lead now, but we're ready when you are!" It was a man's voice, and loud enough that a number of voices made shushing sounds when the speaker fell quiet.

Mr. McDuck poked his head around the corner towards the door of the library. "I'm on m'way. Start the engine an' be waitin' to take off."

The voice remained cheerfully loud. "Righto!" he called, to another chorus of "Shhhh!"s; then the door banged shut.

When Scrooge McDuck turned back to her, Beth realized immediately that she had stopped what she'd been doing, and was staring at him. "Well?" he asked brusquely, and she blinked dumbly.

"Oh! Um... I think I just about-"

He turned on his heel. "Never mind. I dinna have the time for lollygaggin'."

Her stomach knotted, and she wasn't sure if she should run after him or keep trying to find the book. "No - no, wait! I - I know this is important-" As she said it, she pulled a card out at random. _Mountains of Gold: Treasure of the Sierra Mist_, it read. Her eyes widened. "Mr. McDuck! Wait just one moment! I found what you were-"

"Too late, lass! The book's worth nothin' if I get there after the treasure's gone!" he said, with a wave of his hand.

Beth stood for a second longer, and it all came clear to her then: what she should do, what direction her life should take. She would find the book, and when she gave it to him she would ask to come along as a resource. She'd read the book already - she'd read a ton of books - she'd be a great value to his team. All she had to do was talk herself up, make herself sound invaluable, and her entire life would change. She would leave her life as a librarian-slash-grad student behind, become an adventurer - make herself over competely, be someone new, forget who she'd been all this time. She'd never liked herself. This was it, a new start. She would give her name as something else, Eliza or Lizzie - no more Beth, Beth would be left behind; she would laugh easily, speak confidently, charm everyone in Mr. McDuck's team of adventurers. She would have a romance, maybe with the man who had just yelled in the library - he sounded sort of young, at least no older than the people she lived with. She would start over, revive and reinvent herself, and live a life of adventure and excitement. But first, she'd have to will her legs to move.

She tightened her hand around the card, and bolted to the back of the library. It took her five seconds to find the right stack, and an extra three to pull the book out; running at top speed, she flew across the library's front hall and out the door, nearly skidding on the smooth floors.

The lately-crashed plane was running again - it was huge, and the propellers whipped her hair and skirt uncontrollably. Scrooge McDuck was halfway to the plane's door when she got outside, and when she called to him, the noise of the plane drowned her voice out. She took a breath and made a run for it again.

He was nearly inside, and the plane was starting to move, but she wouldn't give up; still running, and calling to him, she felt a wave of relief when he turned at last and saw her. "Mr. McDuck!" she screamed, and could only barely hear herself. She thrust the hand holding the book towards him, using her other hand to keep her glasses from flying off her face as she ran. "HERE!"

He didn't speak, but nodded gravely and took the book from her. Then he slipped into the plane and, as she slowed to a stop, the whole thing sped up and lifted off the campus quad. It gained altitude quickly and within a minute it was nearly out of sight and everything was quiet again. She stared after it in silence.

"Wow," said a voice at her shoulder; Beth jumped, and turned to see one of the senior librarians looking up at the plane as it disappeared. "You don't get to be a part of stuff like that every day, huh?"

She could just barely nod, as she tried to catch her breath. But a moment later she lost it again, as she realized her mistake. "Oh! I - I didn't get him to check it out, and... and I didn't tell him his due date!"

The librarian just looked at her. "It's Scrooge McDuck. You don't do that kind of thing anyway." She shrugged, and beckoned Beth back to the library. "Don't worry. We'll just mail him a notice letting him know that there'll be a late fee if it's not back in three weeks. Trust me... we'll get that book back within ten days."

* * *

December, 1988

On the day that her copy of _American Biochemistry_ arrived, Beth took a moment to relish the giddy feeling in her chest before she opened it and flipped to the Table of Contents, then to the article she was looking for.

She stared at the title page for a full minute without expression.

Then, holding her thumb on that page, she flipped back to the medical journal's Table of Contents again and stared at it. She checked the page number, and went back and forth between the front and middle of the publication before putting the journal down, open, on the table and taking a moment to consider.

She was sure that was the right title. And the first author was C. Audubon Dixon, and the senior author was Katarina Foxx.

So where was her name?

After double- and triple-checking to be completely sure that "Elizabeth M. Webfoot, M.S." was not listed among the authors, she closed the journal, then opened it again and stared at it. She was feeling increasingly agitated. What was she supposed to do? How could she fix this? It was in print already! They'd made a huge mistake and she was the only one who would even notice - how...?

Dix. Dix, of course - he was the first author, he'd published a bunch of other papers and he'd know how to fix this. He'd get them to print a, what was the term for correcting mistakes - an erratum... It wouldn't help her this month, but next time, and in reprints... At least, she hoped it would be that easy.

She went to his room, but it was empty - which she had known, and would have remembered if she hadn't been so upset. She looked around the corridor for a moment or two, as if searching for him, then went through the house just in case he'd come in recently.

No sign of him. She was beginning to feel like either crying, or clawing through the walls. She _needed_ this byline - she had to publish or else she'd lose her stipend!

Okay, calm down... This would get fixed. She had to remember that. Calm down, first and foremost. She took a deep breath, and thought for a moment. Who was home? Who could she ask about this?

...Sarah.

She ran up the stairs to the second floor, slowing as she approached Sarah's bedroom, and tapped on the doorframe. Her older friend paused as she taped up a box. "Um sorry -" Beth said, as her words came out in a rush the way they always did when she was anxious - "I know you're busy and packing and all but, um, maybe, do you - do you know where Dix is?"

That hadn't been what she'd intended to ask, but seeing how much packing Sarah still had to do before she was ready to move to St. Canard in two days made Beth reconsider involving her. Sarah, meanwhile, pushed her glasses up towards her eyes and thought for a moment. "Probably O'Pat's," she answered after a quick moment's thought. "Why? Problem?"

"Um no," Beth answered, and stuck both her hands behind her, hiding the copy of the journal. "Just... wondered."

"Hmm," Sarah said, and she started putting stacks of papers into another open box. "You know, I worry about you and Dix sometimes."

"Me? And Dix? Well, that's silly, since I mean there _is_ no actual 'me and Dix', but you don't have to-"

"Look," Sarah cut her off, and sat down on her bed. "I've tried to keep an eye out for you while I've been here, but now that I'm leaving, I'm worried. I don't know who's going to watch you the way I've been doing."

Beth supposed she was meant to appreciate this sentiment, but it felt like a none-too-hidden comment on her age. Even though she was already 21, everyone else in the house was closer to 30, and she had a feeling they'd never stopped seeing her as a teenager. She tried not to frown. "I- I'm a big girl, you know," she said, attempting a chuckle.

Sarah smirked. "I don't know about _that_," she said, teasingly, "but what I'm really talking about is you and Dix. Listen, you might not have told him you've got stars in your eyes over him, but he knows. He can always tell. And Beth - he's not such a great guy, sometimes."

Beth did frown, now. What would Sarah know about it? Beth had been in his research group for months now, and she felt like she was finally getting to know him pretty well. "Well, thanks for the advice," she said stiffly, and took a step back towards the door. "I should really go - I have something really important to ask Dix about."

Sighing, Sarah answered, "Well, don't start getting overprotective, here. I'm not saying anything, I'm just warning you, keep your head together. It's good advice, in general."

"Yeah." Beth looked at her feet as she hedged her way out of the room. It was, actually, though she didn't see any reason to apply it to Dix. "Thanks. Really. But I honestly do have to go. You're not leaving until Saturday, right?" They promised to have lunch together the day before Sarah left, and then Beth made her way to O'Pat's, the downtown pub that Dix liked to frequent.

Although she started out thinking that a quiet stroll would help clear her mind, she was running and was no less agitated by the time she got there.

Beth hated the pub. She had tried very hard to like it, but it was loud and made her nervous. After she'd turned 21, she'd gone out with her housemates only once to O'Pat's, and quickly discovered that she couldn't hear anything that was said to her. After three different times when she'd asked her friends to repeat something until they'd just shouted "Never mind!" and talked to someone else instead, she had given up on conversations and had sat by herself at a table, not quite brave enough to try to drink the beer they'd bought her, until it was time to go home. Her nervousness made her reluctant to go into the building; besides, she didn't even know for certain that Dix was there. What if he wasn't? She definitely did not want to go inside if he wasn't even there.

Instead, she stood on the bench just under the front window, peering inside in the hopes of seeing him. After nearly a minute, she found him, laughing in a corner. Her heart leapt; as always, just seeing him made her feel warm inside. She smiled a little, feeling both relieved and melancholy at the sight of him; then she turned and sat down on the bench. She didn't feel up to going inside - she'd wait for him outside. She didn't mind waiting; the evening air was brisk, but not unpleasant.

He didn't take too much longer to come out, only about another 45 minutes. Beth would have waited longer, and in fact she'd expected to, so when he appeared at her shoulder she jumped slightly. "Beth? Have you been waiting out here for _me_ this whole time?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Her entire being filled with love for him. For a moment, she fought back tears, and so she had to wait before she could speak. Then she found herself saying, "Well, I - no... I was just, um, I was passing by and... it's nice out here."

Dix nodded, and sat down next to her. She realized for the first time how much colder it had gotten while she'd been waiting, and had to bury an urge to cuddle up next to him and enjoy his body heat.

"I - I did want to... ask you something, actually," she admitted, stammering partly from nerves and partly from the chill. "I... um... I got my copy of _American Biochemistry_ today."

He brightened. "Yes! Our article is in this issue, isn't it? It's going to be big - it's already getting a lot of media buzz."

"Yes," she said, and had to smile at his exuberance. "It looks really good, except, um... There... there was a printing error." Her throat closed up as she said it, and she had to struggle to regain control over her tears.

Dix put an arm around her and patted her back. "Oh no! Look, princess, it can't be that bad. We can fix it. What's the problem?"

She felt so relieved as she told him. "My - my name's not in the author list," she said, and even laughed a little. "I guess I am overreacting, I just... I was really looking forward to it..." But when she looked at him, he looked blank, and she got a sudden chill in her stomach. "What?"

"I don't understand," he said, "why _would_ your name be in the author list?"

Everything seemed to go dark around Beth all at once. She wasn't sure how much time passed before she heard herself saying weakly, "I... I worked on the p-paper..."

Dix didn't look unkind, but his words cut her to the bone. "You weren't part of the research group when we ran the experiments," he explained, and he sounded like he was talking to an eight-year-old girl: kind, paternal, and patient. He still kept his arm around her shoulders. "You joined our group in February, remember? We'd finished most of the experimental work then."

"Oh, yeah," she heard herself saying, as if from far away. It sounded reasonable; she had deluded herself, she'd thought too much, she should have checked -

No. No. She forced herself to speak again. "But - but I helped _write_ the manuscript, Dix!" She felt his hand on her back stop patting and just freeze for a moment. "I helped interpret the results and I wrote almost half the discussion section!"

The hand thawed, and went back to patting. "I know," he said soothingly. "We couldn't have finished the paper without you, and that's why you're at the very _top_ of the Acknowledgements list."

All the late nights, all the effort, all the sweat - the times she'd helped him puzzle through something and he'd laughed and called her a genius - had all of that been a lie?

It couldn't have been. She sat as still as stone, hardly able to breathe, unable to say a word. This was a joke, right? This couldn't be real. Surely she could do something - just tell him that she expected to be listed among the authors, and he'd take care of it. He cared about her. Dix was her friend.

The door to the pub opened, and a woman stepped out. Beth didn't remember ever seeing her before. "Hey, _finally_ done on the phone," she said loudly. "Thanks for waiting, hope I wasn't too long."

Dix took his arm away quickly, and stood up. "Worth the wait!" he said, smiling his most charming smile, and the arm that had been around Beth was now around this new woman's waist. The woman pressed herself up against Dix's shoulder and rubbed her face against his jacket before smiling at Beth. "Hey, who's the kid?" she asked.

Beth stood up. "I'm - I'm no one," she said, and she walked away as quickly as she could, hoping madly that she could get far away before Dix thought to try to stop her. Because she didn't know whether it would be worse if he didn't try to stop her, or if he did.

* * *

The walk home was just long enough for Beth to begin to regain some coherent thought. By the time she reached the house, she felt a lot less numb and a lot more sick to her stomach. 'Have you been waiting for me all this time?' She'd thought he'd come outside to see if she was okay. Instead he'd come out because his date was on the phone.

And he'd stolen her research.

No. Surely not - surely... he couldn't really have...

Oh, but he had. It was like being back at school, when she'd done other people's homework for them, in hopes of being liked - except that this time she hadn't even known it was happening. She'd wanted so badly to gain his attention that she would have done anything for him, and he'd known it.

She was so disgusted with herself that she almost didn't have room to be disgusted with him, as well. She went upstairs and locked herself in her room, trying to control her emotions. It was an impossible task: each passing minute brought a new feeling, a new mindset. Disgust gave way to humiliation as she thought of how she must have seemed to him - a child, ten years his junior, mooning over him and offering to do work he should have been able to do in his sleep, presenting an easy opportunity, letting herself be someone who would surely never stand up for herself, never fight back.

Now she was angry. He'd thought he could get away with it - he was so confident in his own charm that he didn't even think she'd fight him. Well, she'd show him - she'd go to the University heads, the publication, the - the President! Whoever needed to know; whoever most mattered, she'd tell them all!

Except now she was afraid. If she was rational, she'd have to realize that it was her word against his - and he was the one with years of experience. She'd have to document everything, present some proof, and she had nothing. She'd given him all her notes, everything she'd written. She hadn't saved anything. An investigation would take months, maybe years, and she'd probably lose.

And what would she do in the meantime? Again, the recognition that she had to publish something this year in order to keep her stipend was painfully clear. She couldn't just get free money from Duckburg U if she stayed around dabbling for years at a time. She'd either have to pay the University back for this year - impossible - or else she'd have to leave the program.

She cast about for an alternative; the only choices she had were to leave, or to make a case against Dix.

Maybe he'd done this before. Maybe, if she came forward, other people would too and she could take him down. And if she succeeded, she might destroy his career, ruin him entirely.

She didn't really want to do that.

She started to cry.

* * *

At 6:30 am the next morning, with very little sleep from the night before, Beth left the house she'd shared for three years as quietly as she could and boarded a taxi headed for St. Canard.

Right now she had the vaguest outline of a plan, and she would try her best to figure it out as she went. She'd considered calling her parents, but had balked at the idea, especially at the thought of what her mother would say. Instead she'd gone over her options for hours and had finally decided on St. Canard. She would withdraw from Duckburg U. once she'd settled in the neighbouring city, get her transcripts, and transfer into the University of St. Canard. Sarah had told her that the botany program there was the best in the state, and so maybe she could do that. She'd be able to work out her money situation, she was pretty sure, since... well, it had worked out before...

The other reason she'd decided on St. Canard was because Sarah was moving there, and there was a certain comfort in knowing at least one person - even though, just now, Beth couldn't bear the thought of facing Sarah. It didn't matter if Sarah had been "worried" about her; the very fact that what she'd worried about had come true was humiliating enough. For now, Beth didn't want anyone to know where she was - she would reconnect with Sarah later, once everything had blown over.

In fact, she hadn't told anyone at all that she was leaving, and she hoped that wouldn't cause anyone a problem. It should be fine; she was paid up on rent. The fact was, she just couldn't stay in the same house as C. Audubon Dixon any longer - her pain, anger, and humiliation were too intense; she knew that if she tried, she'd get physically sick. She needed to get away and never hear his name again, never even think of him again. Most of all, she wished deeply that she didn't still, in some corner of her soul, love him.

* * *

_Extra Notes: The only character I have written in this story so far that I don't, on some level, feel has an untold side that would make them less of a villain is Dix. He is a bad, bad man. Second note: Treasure of the Sierra Mist, har har, ain't I clever. :P That's based on "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre", for you youngsters who didn't get it._


	17. Act V, part 3A

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_A/N: This one is even longer than the last chapter so I've split it into two parts! Sorry! Okay, important stuff to know up front: Ariana is not mine; she is the creation and property of Amanda Rohrssen, and was used with permission. See the end of the chapter for further notes!_

* * *

**Act V, part III-A**

Now

Dr. Mortimer wanted to know what had happened, and she didn't want to tell him. Her hedging seemed to be making him concerned, and she had a feeling that he was thinking the worst, so she knew she had to say something. But she'd never told anyone about what had happened with Dix, and she didn't want to start now; the worst part of it was that she'd always hated her own complicit role in the whole thing. The way she'd just handed everything over to him was awful and humiliating and maybe, deep down, her own stupidity made her deserve what had happened... Well, in any case, she would never be able to tell anyone about it.

So instead she threw something together that was half-true, something about how she'd made a fool of herself over him and then seen him at the restaurant with another woman, how it had been worse than before because he'd seemed to like her, so on and so on. Dr. Mortimer seemed satisfied with this, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"What made this experience worse for you than what you're going through right now?" he asked.

"Um, I don't know... My expectations, maybe." She sniffled, and wiped at her eye a little. "I mean, I never had any illusions with Drake, I always knew it was going nowhere, but I guess I sort of... thought I had a chance with Dix. Even though he was famous and well-known as a playboy, and all that..."

"Do you think that experience affected your trust in people?"

"Oh yes." She had never thought of it until that moment, but it seemed obvious, in retrospect. At least, as much as anything else in her life... "Yes. Absolutely."

"Because he led you to think that he was interested in you, then let you down?"

There were other reasons, but Beth realized that Dr. Mortimer had gotten to the heart of it, despite his knowing only part of the story. Dix had let her think so many things... She felt a lump growing in her throat, and she nodded, then reached for a tissue. Wiping her eyes again, she said with some difficulty, "Wh-what is the matter with me? Why... why do I keep falling for guys who make me feel this way?"

"I'm glad to hear you ask that," Dr. Mortimer said. When Beth looked at him in surprise, he put up a hand. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he said, grinning sheepishly. "I don't mean that there _is_ something wrong with you, Beth. But I'm glad to hear you express the feeling that you deserve better - and you do need to ask yourself why you make the choices you do, and why you would be attracted to someone who is going to make you feel badly about yourself."

"Right," Beth said quietly to her knees. She looked up at him a little, and with a slight smile said, "I guess that means you're not going to be able to just... give me an answer to my question."

Dr. Mortimer smiled back. "I don't have the answer," he said. "Sorry. That's up to you to find out."

"Right now?"

He shook his head. "Over time."

"You know, the worst part-" She stopped, because what had started to come out of her mouth was something she hadn't even admitted to herself, not even in her mind.

"The worst part?" Dr. Mortimer prompted her, and she knew she had to say it. She steeled herself, closed her eyes, and took a breath.

"The worst part is... is that I..." She looked back down at her lap, and said, "I decided to fall in love with Drake. I sort of... picked him, because I thought he was..." She winced, and finished, "Attainable."

Dr. Mortimer waited a moment, then asked, "What do you mean by 'attainable'?"

"Um... someone not... out of my league?" She thought back to the first time they'd met, the first thing he had said about her. What was it that she had told herself at the time? "We met through - actually, through the other friend I told you about... He came to see me at work, and he brought Drake, and Drake kind of... said something that seemed... nice."

_Your neck looks perfect._

She blushed, and cringed. Even at the time, that had been a reach. She'd known how he meant it, but she'd fooled herself into thinking it was a compliment when in reality it had been nothing more than an impatient attempt to end her conversaton with Launchpad. She felt her eyes tearing up again, and said, "It was so pathetic. I fell for him b-because he said one thing... one thing that could have meant _anything_. I was so desperate for- for _anyone_..."

Dr. Mortimer didn't answer, but nudged the tissue box her way again, looking sympathetic. She wiped her eyes, waited a moment, and then continued.

"And the thing was that our mutual friend, Launchpad... he was _always_ nice. So, like, you'd look at that and think - you know, why Drake? Why not Launchpad, whom I met sooner and who was - was _sincere_? But with Drake... I mean, I never actually _thought_ this, not really, but... But every guy I'd fallen for, the handsome ones and the popular ones, they were always too - too cool for me, and... I -" She trailed off for a moment, then finished, "It's not that I didn't think Drake was handsome! He was, I mean - I mean he _is_! It's just that he's not, I don't know, _dynamic_... he's got more of a, an average face, and he's a little short, and he could be kind of a jerk, and I thought with all those little flaws he wasn't so _perfect_ and he wouldn't ignore me or laugh at me the way the other guys always did, and..."

Nodding, Dr. Mortimer said, "I understand." He cocked his head. "You didn't mind that he was 'kind of a jerk'?"

Her cheeks flaming, Beth really regretted describing Drake the way she had. The more she spoke about him, the more she realized she truly liked him - not just loved, but _liked_ - and the more it was clear that Dr. Mortimer did _not_. She stammered, "I just... Well, I thought once he g-got to know me, that would change."

"And did it?"

It hadn't - not exactly - but Beth knew that it wasn't the way Dr. Mortimer was trying to make it sound. She straightened up in her chair. "He's not the most tactful person, I know. But I also know he likes me. He told me, and he would never have said that if it weren't true." She hadn't answered the question. She hoped he wouldn't notice.

Dr. Mortimer smiled slightly, but didn't question her. "Well, good," he said simply.

"Anyway," she said, sighing and leaning back into her chair again, "the thing is that I was wrong about Drake, anyway. He's _not_ average. I mean, almost right away there was this kind of mystery about him, some kind of intrigue, and I mean sure, I thought I was just building him up in my head-" As she realized what she was getting at, Beth cut herself off. If she kept going, Dr. Mortimer would ask what made Drake so special, and what would she tell him? Stammering, she finished, "And... and I guess I was... But, I mean, my point is that - well. I guess I made my point."

"That you picked him, because you were lonely and you wanted someone to love."

She hung her head. "Yes. Because I was so pathetic."

"That's not pathetic, Beth. People have done far worse things for love, or for wanting it. I think you just need to take the time to realize what you have to give someone else, and to figure out what you really _want_ in a partner. You don't really want someone who is only going to like you because no one else likes them, do you?"

"No, of course not," she answered. "But it's not that _easy_-"

"I didn't say that it was easy," he said gently. "Finding the right person can take time, it can be lonely, and it can hurt. But it's worth it."

Beth nodded sadly; she knew he was talking about Drake, but the words being spoken conjured up the thought of Launchpad. She had no idea how to deal with that, or how to even broach the subject with Dr. Mortimer now. "I'm sure it is," she said. "And... I know Drake isn't the right one."

"Knowing and accepting aren't always the same thing."

"I guess that was the difference, then," she said softly. "I think I always knew. But I never accepted it."

His voice once again so gentle that she felt soothed just by hearing it, Dr. Mortimer asked, "Do you think you're ready to accept it now?"

Just then, Beth didn't know what she thought, or what she was ready for. She shook her head, not for 'no', just because she was confused. "I don't know, yet."

"Okay. We can move on, if you want."

After a moment, she nodded. "Okay. My... my other friend..." With another deep breath, both to settle herself and to take a moment to figure out what to say, she closed her eyes and tried to blow out the tension that was settling in her shoulders and neck. "I... I think I could have stayed at home, if not for... Well..." One last time, she started over again, and this time it went somewhere. "My other friend, his name is Launchpad, and he's the one who introduced me to Drake. And, like I said, we met first and he was always nice, and I - I think, under other circumstances, I might have... fallen for _him_, instead of Drake."

She'd thought that a few times, especially early on, after the first times she'd met him. She'd thought it, in fact, with a sort of mental bright-red DANGER sign flashing in her head: watch out, don't fall in love with him, you'll just get hurt.

Funny how that one had worked out.

"I take it that your falling for him wasn't the problem," Dr. Mortimer said.

"No. In fact, it... it's the opposite. I _didn't_ fall for him, and I thought that was great - how it was supposed to be - but, but right after Drake told me that we - that he..." Dr. Mortimer nodded in understanding, so she skipped trying to say it. "Well - Launchpad came by to help me feel better, and... and _he_ told me..." Her voice grew very small. "That, um, that he was... I don't know, I guess that he was - interested in me."

"I see."

That was one of the things, Beth was coming to realize, that Dr. Mortimer would say when he didn't want to direct the conversation but just wanted to see where she would go with it. As always, it annoyed her a little, because almost every time he used it she would have much preferred being directed. She sighed. "I guess... you'd think, after all this time, that I'd have liked to hear that. I mean, he even told me that he was just saying it so that I'd feel better, but... But how can that make me feel _better_?" she asked, spreading her hands in an appeal to Dr. Mortimer, hoping he'd understand. "I mean - I'm sitting there feeling awful because the person I love doesn't love me, so now all I can think is how _he_ must feel! I know first-hand how bad it feels to love someone who doesn't love you, and now I'm the one causing that feeling in someone else!"

"And that made you feel worse, and you felt like you needed to leave?" When she nodded, Dr. Mortimer asked, "Did you feel guilty? Did your friend make you feel like you weren't welcome?"

"Oh no. Not Launchpad. No, he... he'd never do that. But I did feel guilty. I mean, if you knew him, you'd understand... if you knew what a devoted friend he is."

"So you feel that you have a strong friendship with him?"

"Yes." A little more softly, she said, "He's my best friend... my only friend, really," although as she said that she knew it wasn't true; she had Gosalyn now, and even Drake, after all... but it wasn't the same thing as what she had with Launchpad. "No one else has ever understood me, or... or _accepted_ me the way he does... Except-"

"Except?"

Except for the one person Beth tried not to think about very often, because it still stung. It had started perfectly, and ended so badly that she could hardly believe it sometimes.

* * *

March, 1989

The corkboard at the University of St. Canard was large, and littered with signs. Some were handmade, some typed; one or two looked professionally printed. Some gave the phone number just once, expecting the reader to write it down for themselves, while others provided helpful little tabs for interested parties to tear off and carry to the nearest phone booth.

Beth sighed. The last time she'd tried this, it was in a smaller student area and during the off-season; this was the polar opposite, and the results were almost overwhelming. She realized that she actually had no idea where to start: last time she hadn't had to pursue anything, since Sarah had happened by and she'd just stepped right into what had seemed a perfect housing situation. "Perfect" - she'd been so naive...

Well, best not to think about that. She took her notepad out of her bag, found a pencil, and stepped up to the board to read the tiny print on a few signs. In her peripheral vision, she saw movement, and realized there was someone else there as well; fretting, she stepped backwards so that the other person could see too, and mumbled a quick "Sorry!" The distance left her stuck squinting at the board, but she didn't have much choice otherwise.

"It's okay," said a gentle voice at her left. Beth snuck a quick glance at her fellow housing-hunter. She found herself looking at a petite blonde duck, her hair flowing down onto bare shoulders, hands clasped before her as she looked intently up at the board. She had large gray eyes, a blue dress, and an almost ethereal quality that was probably brought forth by the way the sun glowed upon and through her hair, giving it the appearance of a halo. There was something about her that was striking; Beth felt oddly that she was looking at an old photograph of a girl, rather than a living person.

The girl - whose age Beth couldn't be sure of, but she was certainly within a few years of Beth one way or the other - turned her head back and forth, almost imperceptibly, first towards Beth and then away again. After a moment Beth realized that she was staring, and that the girl had noticed and was growing understandably uncomfortable. She looked back at the corkboard again immediately, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

They stood there in silence for several long moments, and Beth was too aware of the company to manage to concentrate on what was on the board. She sighed in defeat; maybe it would be better if she just left for now, and came back when no one else was there. But then she realized that the girl hadn't moved in all this time - she hadn't taken a number, written anything down, or even stepped closer to read any details on the board.

She shot another look at her companion, and found that the girl was looking at her hands, her expression worried.

Beth fidgeted, wondering if she should say something, or if it would be too presumptuous: she didn't want to look overbearing or give the impression that she thought the girl looked foolish, but...

Well, it was always nice to try to help, right? Besides, the blonde looked so harmless, and so _helpless_, that she almost couldn't help herself. "Um... Excuse me, do you, is there - I mean -"

The girl looked up at her, her eyes wide, and Beth noticed that her eyes were actually silver and not gray. It only added to her otherworldly quality. "What?" she asked, and it was a startled question - almost guilty - rather than an accusation.

"I - Well, I don't want to imply anything, but you just look, you look kind of like you're... um... lost," said Beth, wondering why it took her so long to get out the simplest of sentences. Her mind always seemed to be working too fast for her to formulate her ideas properly. The girl's brow furrowed, so Beth automatically backtracked. "I'm sorry, I mean, I don't want to step on your toes, I just thought - if you could use some help...?"

"Well... Actually..." The girl sounded hesitant, but just those two words were enough to relieve Beth of a load of tension. The blonde girl went on, "I've never actually _done_ this before..."

"Oh, okay! Well, I'm not exactly an expert myself, but I tried this once, and I know some other people who have, and so - well, I mean it's not rocket science anyway. So, um, just ask any questions you have and maybe I can answer them! I'm Beth, by the way."

The girl smiled tentatively. "I'm Ariana. It's very nice to meet you," she answered, and turned back to the cork board. She frowned at it slightly. "I think I just need to know..." She trailed off, and Beth waited as Ariana tried to formulate her question. After a few moments, she seemed to give up, and just said, "How does this _work_?"

"W-well," Beth tried; it wasn't a hard question, but it was kind of a big one. "It depends on what you're looking for. I mean there are a bunch of different kinds of listings, and they use codes for them, and so you just look for the codes to what you want and try to find one in your price range. Like, um, if you wanted a multi-room house it's usually '2 BR H', or you might have 'BR and BTH' for bedroom with bath-" Beth stopped herself. "What are you looking for?"

"Um... anything?"

"Okay, um..." Beth took a stab in the dark and hoped she wasn't somehow offending the other girl, "one-bedroom?"

Ariana nodded. "Yes. Something... small."

Beth turned to look over the listings, then turned back. "Oh, and what's your price range?"

The answer was another lost look. "I don't... have one?"

"...Oh." Beth didn't know what to do with that, so she just turned and scanned over the listings. "Okay, one-bedroom in a shared house, non-smokers only, um... $350 a month? Is that okay?" Ariana blinked her wide eyes and looked uncertain. "Do - do you want to write this down? I have some paper -" Beth tore out a sheet and handed it to Ariana, along with a pen. "And here's one, $275 a month for one room in a house with three other - oh, they're all guys, is that a problem?"

Ariana blushed. "I don't think I could do that."

"Yeah, me neither," said Beth. She smiled, and was pleased to see Ariana smile back, but the blonde girl's expression quickly slipped away and was replaced with a look of worry. "What's wrong?"

She paused, then asked, "Is $350 a lot of money?"

Beth turned her head back to the cork board to hide the fact that her mouth was hanging open in surprise. She had _no_ idea how to answer that, especially not without prying. "Um... I guess that depends on... how much money you _have_." It was, she guessed, either quite a lot or very little.

When Ariana didn't answer right away, Beth turned back to check and see if she'd offended her. She found that the other girl was staring at her hands again, her expression even more worried than before. "Not much," Ariana breathed at last. She looked up, meeting Beth's eyes. "I... I just got here, and I thought the first thing I should do would be to find a place to stay, and the second thing would be to find a job... Only... Maybe I got that backwards."

"Well," said Beth, and then couldn't follow up with anything else, so the word just hung there for a few moments. She didn't have a job either, but she had enough in her savings account from Duckburg to cover her for about a month or so, until she was registered at the University of St. Canard and hopefully working there. Ariana, on the other hand, had such a sense of vagueness to her plans that there was something a bit desperate about her situation.

"You know -" _Please,_ Beth thought, _please let this be right._ She didn't know how to read the situation, and it was possible this would mortally offend Ariana to the core, but Beth felt certain that the girl needed help and this was the only way she could think of to provide it. She steeled herself, and said, "Maybe, um, maybe I could go around with you to a few places, and help you get started."

"Oh," Ariana said, the word leaving her like a soft, surprised breath. "You don't have to do that..."

Hoping that this wasn't just a polite way for Ariana to ask to be left alone, Beth offered, "It's not a problem at all! I mean, I've never done this either, so we can... I don't know, we can be moral support or something, and - and of course, if you don't want to, I totally understand!"

With a growing smile on her face, Ariana stepped forward and nodded. "Okay," she said simply.

For some reason she couldn't quite explain, this made Beth feel good for the first time in days. She smiled too, in relief.

* * *

After a full afternoon, and six different houses, neither of them had found quite what they were looking for; everything seemed to be too expensive, or was run-down, or had roommates that they didn't feel they'd get along with. But it was starting to seem that they'd have to lower their standards if either one wanted to find a place. Beth found that she was much more anxious on Ariana's behalf than she was on her own.

Feeling overwhelmed, Beth offered to pay for dinner and Ariana accepted readily. Beth settled on a Hamburger Hippo at the edge of town, to no objections, and the two girls had a seat and made small talk. It wasn't long before their meals were all but forgotten, as the conversation picked up and expanded; the more they talked, the more both seemed to have to say.

Beth had no idea what made the conversation so easy; the only time she'd ever been able to talk to another girl this way had been with Nicola, and even then, she'd done most of the listening. Ariana, on the other hand, seemed more than willing to listen as Beth chattered about whatever came into her mind - and she was _really_ listening, not nodding every few seconds whether the story called for it or not, but even springing in occasionally with her own additions. It wasn't something she was used to: she'd never met a kindred soul before, someone who seemed to feel and understand things the same way she did, and their connection was too immediate to feel anything but natural.

The funny thing was that they barely spoke of anything personal. Beth outlined her plans for her life in St. Canard - enrolling at the school, attaining her Ph.D. - and gave a drastically abbreviated version of her background at Duckburg U. She, in turn, found out that Ariana had just finished school (though not which one), and that the blonde was from out of state, had an older sister who lived somewhere in St. Canard - Ariana wasn't entirely sure exactly where, and hadn't tracked her down yet - and was about a year younger than Beth. Beyond that, nothing was volunteered, not even the name of her hometown.

Well, Beth didn't feel like talking about her own recent past yet, either; so she didn't pry. If it was important, she was sure it would come up eventually... Just as she would eventually tell Ariana her own background, her experiences in Duckburg, what had happened with Dix. Well... she'd probably tell her, anyway... Assuming they still managed to see each other once they'd found places to live.

Then a light bulb seemed to go on over her head.

"You know what," Beth said spontaneously, after she'd rediscovered her now-cold french fries, "I think we're going about this rooming thing all wrong."

"You do?" asked Ariana, who still had yet to finish more than half of her cheeseburger and didn't seem to be about to do anything towards that end.

Beth nodded. "We've been looking for individual rooms, right? Don't you think-" She made a gesture towards her plate, offering her french fries which were now undeniably gummy; Ariana refused, probably wisely. "-Don't you think that we might as well, I mean, wouldn't it be easier if we just went in together on a house?"

Immediately, Ariana beamed and said, "I was hoping you'd say that!"

"Really?" Beth was so delighted that she couldn't properly formulate a follow-up for a minute or so. "I mean - well, not 'really' because obviously - well, just, great! I'm so relieved! And happy, I mean -"

"Me too," said Ariana excitedly.

"This is going to be so much fun!"

"I know! I've never shared a house before!"

"We can have movie nights! And - um..." Since Beth had no interest at all in most of the shared activities her previous housemates had enjoyed, she was at a loss of what else to suggest.

Ariana suggested, "And trade books?"

Her eyes wide, Beth sort of half-said and half-breathed, "Oh yeah." This started them on a five-minute discussion of the books they'd read, which ones they both liked, and which ones the other had never heard of. Beth felt a kind of greedy glee when she realized that she didn't know at least half of the books Ariana mentioned.

It was almost too perfect.

* * *

_Continued in part III-B! Yeah I know, long chapter is long._


	18. Act V, part 3B

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_A/N: Direct continuation from previous chapter - this is the second half, both posted at once!_

* * *

**Act V, part III-B**

The third house they went to was ideal - small, but not too small for only two people. The price range was excellent, and the location was close to a lot of public transportation and to the USC campus.

Ariana apologized repeatedly for not being able to pay for her half of the rent, or for the deposit, but Beth didn't mind at all. She had no doubt in her mind that her friend would pay her back as soon as she was able, and once they both had jobs, money wouldn't be an object anymore.

They spent another couple of hours going over the house - which was just two levels, with a kitchenette and a common room on the first floor, and two bedrooms on the second, plus an unfinished basement - and figuring out what would go where, how they would decorate, and other details. By the time they realized they were hungry, the sky was already dimming.

She had to talk Ariana into agreeing to get dinner at someplace nicer than Hamburger Hippo, since the blonde already felt guilty about Beth being the one to pay for everthing; but once it was settled, they wandered around the city a little bit in search of a good place to eat. The area wasn't the best, and the restaurants reflected this; as the sun set, they seemed to hear more and more police sirens in the distance - and, as time passed, a bit closer.

It was clear to Beth that the atmosphere was making Ariana nervous - and it wasn't helping her own worries, either. Since nervousness was often a catalyst for her to start talking, she said, "It wasn't much like this in Duckburg. It was actually kind of boring, sometimes. That's part of why I decided to come to St. Canard; I thought it would be neat to be in a place with more action, you know, a chance for adventure or something." They turned down a street and finally saw a row of sit-down restaurants. "Oh! Okay, I think this is what we were looking for."

Ariana looked behind them, frowning. "Do you... know where we are?"

"Um, not really, but I think I can find our way back home. I'm pretty good at backtracking, usually."

They picked a restaurant almost at random, and after they were seated, Beth said, "Oh yeah - but as I was saying, I picked St. Canard just to have some variety. Or, well, a little bit. The big city, you know, it's just ... exciting."

"Well, it's definitely big," Ariana agreed. "But sometimes... don't you think maybe... it's a little bit overwhelming?"

"Oh, absolutely," Beth agreed readily. "But we'll get used to it."

They had a seat next to a window and were able to watch the last of the sunlight dim and disappear throughout their meal, while discussion continued almost nonstop, just as it had the day before. When the conversation turned to jobs and next moves, Beth found that she felt a lot less confident than she had just the day before about her plans to get into the University. "I guess I need to go in and set up an interview, or... something. I didn't do it in this order before, I applied from home and they called me - plus I don't have any of my transcripts..."

"I'm sure it'll be fine!" said Ariana. "Maybe there's an admissions office that can help you..."

Beth smiled weakly. "That would be great. I hate having to take care of these things." Feeling like she'd been monopolizing the conversation, she turned her attention to Ariana. "So - what kind of jobs are you thinking of looking for?"

"Oh... I really don't know," Ariana answered uncertainly. "I don't even know where to start..."

"Well, okay, um... What kinds of things are you good at?"

There was a brief pause, and then Ariana asked uncertainly, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know... I mean, not just what job skills do you have, but what are your hobbies, what do you _like_ to do?"

Ariana frowned slightly, looking at the tablecloth. "Oh... Well, I like to cook, and write and draw, but I couldn't do those kinds of things professionally." She traced her finger around the curve of her glass lightly, and didn't elaborate.

"Well, um, I don't know where to tell you to start - but oh, you know, maybe you could look at the University! Maybe they'd have some jobs, or... Or some leads for jobs! And in the meantime, you could get a part-time job while you're looking for something more permanent!"

Even though Ariana looked as reluctant to go inquiring about job possibilities as Beth would have been, she agreed that this sounded like a good plan; they both agreed to go looking around the area for part-time jobs the next day, once Beth had been by the registrar's office at the school.

After that, a silence fell over both of the girls, as they stared out of the window. After a moment, Beth broke it. "I wish we could just wave a magic wand and get all this hard stuff done and over with," she said longingly.

Ariana looked at her in surprise from across the table; Beth, staring distractedly out of the window, didn't notice that the blonde looked troubled, almost guilty. "...What?"

"Oh, you know," said Beth, her bill forming a melancholy smile, "wouldn't it just be great if we could say some magic words, cast a spell, and have everything fall into place? Just make it easier?"

"It... It wouldn't make it easier," Ariana said quietly. Her attention drifted purposefully back outside.

Beth looked at her finally, snapping back to attention. "Oh, I know! I know it's not easy... I just wish it _was_, you know, just... Just fantasizing. Being silly." She laughed lightly, and when Ariana didn't smile, she felt a need to explain herself some more. "What I mean is - there's no such thing as magic, or any shortcut, and it just would save us so much anguish..."

Ariana, looking at her napkin now, said softly, "No it wouldn't."

"Well..." Beth was at a loss; she didn't know what she'd said, and she couldn't seem to make it any better. Ariana was looking progressively more unhappy by the second. "I'm sorry - it's not going to be *that* hard, Ariana! People get jobs and make it in the city all the time! Besides, we can rely on each other, right?"

Ariana looked up at her again suddenly, and smiled with so much genuine affection and gratitude in her eyes that Beth was almost surprised by it. "Thank you," she said, and then repeated it: "Thank you, for everything you've done for me."

Beth had never been able to take any kind of compliment, and now was no exception. Although deeply pleased, and equally grateful to Ariana just for her company, she could only stammer her way through a deflection. "Oh, it's- it's nothing much, I mean... I'm happy to... Um."

As they stepped out into the night air a few minutes later, a car whizzed past at high speed. Startled, Beth looked after it, then turned to say something about it to Ariana; before she could, they both jumped as a purple blur buzzed past at high speed, apparently following the same route.

"What WAS that?" Beth asked, peering after it down the now-empty street. "A motorcycle? Can they go that fast?"

"I don't know... maybe we should get back home," Ariana said nervously, crossing her arms tightly.

Beth, trying to hide her own fear, attempted a smile in Ariana's direction but she wasn't sure she managed to pull it off. "Okay, let's get going - I think it's only about ten minutes from here."

As they walked, Beth kept a running stream of commentary in an effort to keep Ariana's mind at ease. They were just discussing the fact that neither of them had actual beds yet, and maybe they should stay one more night in the motel, when a figure stepped around a corner, blocking their way. Brought up short, Beth gasped; behind her, Ariana clutched at her arm.

It was a man, and he was taller than either of them, and when he spoke, it was so much the worst thing he could have said that Beth almost couldn't believe it was really happening. "Your money. All of it. Now."

She was staring at his face, which was shadowed underneath a short-brimmed cap, and until Ariana's fingers clenched again on her arm Beth didn't even notice the gun that he was holding. Again, a sense of unreality washed over her, and Beth distantly heard herself saying, "I... I don't have any."

Why had she said that? she wondered. It was a lie - would he know it was a lie? - he had a gun - but maybe, maybe he'd leave them alone...

Instead of leaving, or even lowering the weapon, he swung it around just over Beth's shoulder and aimed it directly at Ariana. "Then I guess I'll have to take it all out of _this_ one," the man said.

Beth heard Ariana breathe in quickly, so softly that it nearly wasn't even a gasp at all; and the blonde's hand shot up to cover her mouth, while at the same time, she actually stepped forward, in front of Beth. The gun stayed trained on her. Beth stared in horror, and Ariana's eyes went from the gun to the face of the man holding it, and back to the gun. And then, she simply closed her eyes and waited.

Without any comprehension of how this could even be happening, Beth watched the gunman's hand tremble as he glared at Ariana. "Come on! COME ON! NOW!" he began to shout, and when Ariana didn't move, he seemed to reach a decision and with his thumb he flipped the gun's safety off.

Beth broke herself from her paralysis and yelled, "NO! No, I - I have money, just, just d-don't shoot, okay? Sh-she doesn't have any, I'm the one. Here," she fumbled to get all of her remaining cash from her pockets, and held it out to him. As an afterthought she took her checkbook out and offered that as well. "H-here, you can have a-all of it, okay?"

He was looking at the money with an incredulous expression on his face, as though it was somehow an insult. Ariana slowly opened her eyes again and turned them to Beth, looking almost as if she'd just awakened from a dream.

Beth swallowed, and found that her hands were shaking violently. She offered the money one more time, then knelt and put it on the ground, and took a step backwards. "Th-there. Th-that really is ev-everything..."

The gunman looked at the pile on the ground, and when he looked back up at her, he looked incensed. "You _lied_ to me?" he asked in a quiet voice, and the gun swung towards her, and he shouted, "You don't LIE to me! Maybe you're still holdin' out on me! Maybe I oughta just make _sure!_"

And Beth realized that she had done every single thing exactly wrong.

That was when the impossible thing happened.

The first part of it was that the gun began to tremble, and that in itself wasn't so odd; the gunman was agitated, clearly anxious, and shaking was almost expected. But then it seemed to jerk, and then with a twitch the gun pulled itself right out of his hand. He stared at it with his mouth open stupidly, and Beth, still having trouble even keeping up with what was going on, stared too.

It wasn't until she heard Ariana speak that she thought to look at her friend; in fact, when Ariana _did_ speak, Beth almost didn't register the word at first. It was just one word, but what caught her attention was the determination, the firm and decisive way it was said.

"_No_," said Ariana, and when Beth looked at her, the blonde was staring in concentration at their attacker. A moment later, the gun went spiralling off down the street as if it had been thrown. Beth half-expected to hear it go off, since it had been cocked, but there was no sound of gunfire.

The now-unarmed gunman stood and stared for a moment longer, and then he looked at his hand, as if wondering what had just happened to the weapon he was sure he'd had a moment ago. He looked up again at Beth, apparently deciding she was the one responsible for whatever freak accident had just taken place, and took a step towards her. "You-" he began, and that was as far as he got.

"_NO!_" Ariana repeated, and this time she gestured and said, "_Procul meus mos, incohare glacies!_"; the man stopped in place, glowed for a moment, and then began to turn blue. As Beth watched, cringing, frost gathered over his feathers and icicles dripped from his chin.

Ariana let out a breath and relaxed, stumbling backwards. She put her hand to her head and held it there, covering her eyes. There was silence between them for several moments.

"Wh..?" Beth finally tried to speak, and found that the small, questioning noise was all she could manage. Ariana still did not look at her, and as she goggled at the frozen man who had just tried to shoot them, Beth tried to make sense out of all this. She turned her full attention to Ariana, and squeaked out, "Did... did you... do that?"

Ariana lowered her hand from her forehead, but kept her eyes on the ground. After a long moment, she nodded. When Beth didn't say anything further, she cautiously looked up at the brunette, her eyes questioning and frightened.

It didn't make _sense_. It was impossible, and it was against everything Beth knew, and it was alarming. Beth seemed to have a million questions, but they all boiled down to one, and it was the next thing she voiced. An edge of panic that she hadn't known she felt escaped when she asked, "What... did you _do_?"

Her eyes dropping to the ground briefly, then coming to focus on her hands, Ariana said quietly, "He... he was going to hurt you, and... and I... I think he'll thaw in a - a few hours..."

"But-" Beth looked at the man again, and a shiver went down her back, because it wasn't _possible_. "But _what did you do?_"

"I... I just didn't want him to..." Ariana held her hands to her mouth, and her eyes met Beth's for a fraction of a second before she looked away, as though afraid of what she'd see there. "Please don't be afraid... please... don't look at me like that..."

Beth didn't know how she was looking. She couldn't really think of much of anything. Speechless, she shook her head, and Ariana let out a sob and said, "I'm sorry!" Before Beth knew what was going on, the blonde was running. She turned a corner, and Beth gained enough mental cohesion to realize that she had to follow.

But when she ran to the corner and turned, there was no sign of Ariana at all. She stopped, perplexed, and tried to listen for something - footsteps or a voice, anything - but the city's ambient noises surrounded her, and she had nothing to guide her. She stood, feeling lost.

"Ariana?" she called. There was no answer. Louder, she repeated, "_Ariana?_ Ariana, _wait_!"

Nothing. A couple passed her by, and looked at her curiously. Beth wondered if they'd seen her friend run by them, but couldn't bring herself to ask. She stood very still, waiting... Waiting for something that didn't come, something that was gone, perhaps forever, and it was only her fault. As always.

* * *

April 1989

After totally blowing her third interview - this time by dumping coffee over the desk of the man interviewing her - Beth had to admit that she wasn't cut out for interviews. Then again, that was no big surprise. She wasn't really cut out for anything, it seemed, except school and studying; every single effort she had made at living within the "real world" had been thwarted, undermined, or just embarrassing.

As she walked home, Beth considered - as she had done more and more frequently of late - packing up her things and going back to live with her parents. It would be the easiest thing to do and probably the most sensible. She was going to run out of money soon; even with a roommate and a modestly-priced house, she couldn't possibly live much longer without an income.

But she had signed a lease for the next 11 and a half months; she couldn't possibly get out of it. And she'd be leaving her roommate, Hester, in the lurch. Hester had been good enough to sign on to rent the vacant room without even knowing Beth beforehand, and she was an easy, if not exactly sociable, housemate. She worked nights, tending bar at a local club, and Beth usually didn't even see her until 5pm or so as she was getting ready for work. Hester usually sported a heavily-gelled mohawk, as well as several impressive facial piercings and some of the thickest eyeliner Beth had ever seen on anyone but a mime. Not that Beth was judging this at all; some people were just cooler than others (and she was definitely in the "others" category here). Hester looked a little intimidating, but Beth had found that she was perfectly happy to do her own thing and barely speak to Beth at all, which was a giant relief for all concerned.

Beth stopped for a moment on her way home, and leaned against a storefront, thinking. She didn't know anymore where to go or what to do. Her transcripts hadn't come through, so she couldn't go back to school, but she felt in her heart that she couldn't go home. She couldn't find a job without experience, but how could she gain experience without a job?

What did people _do_ in her situation?

Maybe... if she just got a part-time job for a little while, to cover her necessities, she could take some of the stress out of her full-time job search. Then even if it took another few months to find a real job, she could keep her head above water, and she could just quit once she was set up in her new career.

The first place she saw with a "Now Hiring!" sign was a hardware store. She knew nothing at all about tools, but this was a part-time job; how much would she _need_ to know?

When she asked the manager on duty for an application, the woman looked her up and down almost critically, then asked her a few questions about the kind of job she was looking for, what kind of background she had, and other questions. After about five minutes, Beth realized she was being interviewed on the spot. She must have said the right things - in any case, she tried to be as agreeable as possible - because soon the woman smiled and started telling her about the hardware store, what the job consisted of, and how most of it was just working with people, which was "the great part". Apparently the woman, who gave her name as Henny, loved working with people and knowing the tools wasn't the important part, it was how you treated the customer, on and on, and Beth found that she was not only getting nervous about dealing with people but she also couldn't get a word in edgewise. She just stood and nodded away, and within another ten minutes she was walking out of the store with a job.

* * *

Sometimes Beth wondered if maybe Ariana had been a dream, or something. Not always; in fact, for the first two weeks after Ariana had disappeared, Beth had been resolutely convinced that she would show up, somewhere, somehow. For the first three days she hung around their house night and day, barely leaving even to procure furnishings or food; for the remainder of that first week, she had looked almost obsessively around herself as she walked through the streets, sure that she'd see a flash of blonde hair, of silver eyes. She didn't know what she'd say or how she'd apologize, but she ached for the chance to try and make things right.

When the first week passed without any sign, Beth became even more worried, and didn't sleep for two nights. Ariana had almost _nothing_, and she was so helpless (or, well, no she wasn't - but that _couldn't_ have been real, could it?), and what if she'd been mugged or murdered, or...? The anxiety became so much that Beth had to force herself into optimism, into a "wait and see" mentality, and just resigned herself to patience. She'd hear from Ariana somehow, and soon.

And when she didn't, she scoured the newspapers, going back each day until the last day she'd seen her friend. When she didn't find any record of a murdered blonde girl, she relaxed a little bit - at least Ariana was probably still _alive_, which was something - but couldn't get past the deep, biting ache of knowing that after two weeks, Ariana was not likely to just show up again like nothing had happened.

It would be so much easier to find out that it had been a dream. So much simpler, because then she wouldn't have driven away the one person who had seemed to understand her, and to like her for herself, out of all the other people she'd met throughout her life.

Things had gone alright, once Beth had given up on Ariana's returning. She'd put up an ad at the corkboard, found Hester, and managed to recoup a little bit of the first month's rent that she'd covered (of course, she had pro-rated Hester for the first two weeks). She was still down for the deposit, but once she had a job, that would be covered too. Or something. In any case, the money was gone, so there was no point worrying over it. Now things were finally looking up, she thought as she walked around to the side door that she and Hester used to enter the house since the front door was in an odd state of painted-over disrepair.

It was noon, but when she entered the living room, the blinds were drawn and the place was dark. There was a figure lying on the couch watching TV under some blankets, and when Beth stepped into the room, the figure sat up and blinked owlishly at her. It was a young woman Beth didn't think she'd ever seen before, with deep red hair framing her face and ending at her chin.

"Oh - hi," said Beth awkwardly. This must be a friend of Hester's - someone from the bar, maybe. It would sure help if Hester was around, but she didn't want to appear unfriendly, so she stayed planted in the doorway of the living room and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

"H'lo," said the girl, and she switched the TV off and stretched. "Uh, sorry, lemme clear off of here. Did you wanna sit down?"

"Oh, no, that's okay. You can stay there," Beth answered, though by the time she'd said it, the blankets had already been swept off and were being folded. "Um... You don't have to move... I'm sorry, I just didn't know you were down here, I didn't see you when I went out-" She spread her hands apologetically, and added, "Welcome."

The girl looked a little perplexed. "It's no prob... I didn't know it was getting this late. But you don't usually come in until later, right?"

"I guess not, most days..." The conversation was starting to creep her out, since it made Beth wonder what Hester had told the girl about her. She said, "Um, is Hester... still asleep, or in the shower or something...?"

The girl eyed her with a strange expression, then said, "Seriously? You really don't recognize me?"

Beth blinked, and noticed the piercings that were barely visible in the dim light, and said "Oh gosh - Hester?"

"Present," said her housemate. Her voice was distinctive, husky and slightly sarcastic, but Beth didn't speak with her quite often enough to know it unmistakably.

"Oh gosh," Beth said again, blushing. "You... you... wasn't your hair purple yesterday?" she asked lamely. Purple, not to mention in a mohawk and offset by severe eye makeup? Without these things, Hester looked mostly normal, which was almost an unthinkable sight.

"Yeah, well, it had been like that for nearly three weeks, it was getting old," Hester said, and tossed herself back on the couch once she felt reassured that Beth was not going to use it. When the brunette nodded, Hester nodded too, as if they'd reached some cosmic agreement. Then she sat up again and reached into the pocket of the jeans she was wearing, and pulled out a folded envelope. "Oh yeah - this came for you sometime. I picked it up last night when I got in. I guess someone shoved it under the door."

Beth took the envelope, noting that there was no name or return address on it, only Beth's own name written in a curly, rather pleasant script. "Oh. Thanks," she said, unsure if she should add anything else, just to be conversational. She couldn't think of anything, so she excused herself politely and headed for the stairs to her room.

Settling down on her bed, she looked closely again at the envelope. She didn't recognize the handwriting... Couldn't be from her family, so maybe it was school-related? Though that was unlikely, why would they stick something underneath her door in the dead of night? So what was it?

An idea occurred to her, suddenly, and she fought hard to keep it from forming all the way. It wouldn't do to get her hopes up. Just open it, and see, and _then_ react.

She tore open the envelope and peered inside, hoping for a note or something - an explanation, a reassurance, SOMETHING.

But what was inside was not a letter, or an explanation, or even a name.

It was money. Beth frowned, puzzled, and counted it. After she'd counted it twice she realized that it amounted to half of the deposit on the house, plus half of the first month's rent - in short, half of what she had paid up front when she and Ariana had signed the lease.

It meant two things: on the one hand, it meant that Ariana was okay. Wherever she was, she had money, so she had a job and presumably a place to stay.

On the other hand, it meant that she was never going to see Ariana again. On top of everything else that had happened that day, it was too much to bear, and before she knew it she was sobbing.

* * *

_Further Author's Notes: Just to go into a bit more detail on Ariana - if you're familiar with Amanda's stories then obviously Ariana is from "The Other McCawber Girl". If you haven't been reading that fic then I highly recommend you start! Amanda used Beth throughout and so I'm happily returning the favor (things work out a bit better for Ariana and Beth in Amanda's fic, too); plus you get to know much more about Ariana and find out what a great character she is._

If you HAVE been reading already you will notice that this fic does not fit into OMG's continuity in the slightest, which is okay with Amanda. This is me borrowing Ariana and adjusting parts of her background to fit my series, and Amanda is free to do the same with Beth (we just make sure to check with each other first, to be certain it's all okay). So don't take any of this as canon for Ariana's history! It definitely didn't "really" happen in her own AU. However, Amanda approved this chapter beforehand, helped with notes on Ariana's character, and basically wrote quite a lot of her dialogue, so at the very least she is in-character. :) I hope at some point to be able to bring her back into the series - we'll see!

Other items: there is a longer version of this chapter which will be published as a standalone side story on Amanda's website (darkwingtower dot com); it's called "The Impossible Thing". Content is mostly the same but there are one or two extra scenes and a few details included that I cut out of this one for length. Also, Beth's start at Bindler's Hardware is really glossed over, but yes that is Henny who interviews her in five minutes and hires her on the spot. Annnnnd, I think that's it; just three more chapters to go, so stayed tuned folks! I hope I'll be done soon! 


	19. Act V, part 4

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

**Act V, part IV**

Now

Candy put her magazine down when Beth walked out of the office, and stood up to meet her. "Are you done? Is it time to go?"

Beth nodded. "I need a minute or so to set up the next appointment," she said. It took about three minutes, during which time Candy checked her watch twice and fidgeted, while Beth did her best to ignore the behaviour; once she was done, they left.

The sun was already beginning to make its steady way towards the horizon. At the wheel, Candy said, "So what'd you talk about?"

Infuriated, Beth said, "Private stuff!"

"Like what?" Candy persisted. Beth was floored; even for Candy this was going too far.

"Like stuff I don't want to tell you about," she answered.

Candy didn't answer for a moment, and then she said, sounding huffy, "Well, fine. I just thought you might like to confide in someone else."

"Look, I am not going to 'confide' in you so that you can make fun of me for my problems." Beth turned to stare out the window again, and resolved to ask her mother to tell Candy to leave her alone from now on.

"I wouldn't laugh at you. You really think I'd laugh at you?" Candy asked, sounding a little petulant. Beth snuck a look at her and was surprised to see that Candy actually looked troubled. "Boy," she said, "you must really think I'm an awful sister."

There was no answer Beth could immediately give, because in truth her opinion of Candy's sororal instincts just was not that good; but the comment made her feel like a heel. "Um... No," she said unconvincingly.

Then again, why should she feel bad? How often had Candy gone out of her way to make sure she had the spotlight, or to twist whatever Beth said around so that it reflected poorly on her? It wasn't like it was with her mother, where Irene had made some bad choices and regretted them; Candy had a life history of not understanding Beth, without any efforts to change that. Beth didn't have to feel bad for Candy's mistakes.

She looked at her sister again; even though she often drove too fast and was sloppy with her turn signals, Candy almost never took her eyes off the road when she drove, and it reminded Beth unfailingly of Launchpad, who was just the reverse: she was never able to get him to keep his eyes on the road when she rode with him. She missed him for the umpteenth time, and thought about the end of her conversation with Dr. Mortimer.

* * *

15 minutes earlier

"Since we're nearing the end of our session," said Dr. Mortimer, "I'd like to ask you a direct question."

Beth, who was sitting and wallowing in the guilt and shame that still accompanied those memories of Ariana, shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"How do you think that this experience is related to what you're going through now?"

It hadn't occured to her that they _were_ related, beyond the obvious. "Um... I-I don't know... I don't think it's connected to right now, really, except that she was the only other person who has ever liked me for... for _me_."

"And?"

"And..." Confused, Beth said, "And I drove her away? Just like everyone else I've known?"

"Is that the only reason you can think of?"

Beth frowned slightly. "Well, yeah. Why, what do _you_ think-"

Dr. Mortimer held up his hand. "Let me ask something else. What made you, while speaking about your friend Launchpad, think about your friend Ariana?"

"Um... like I told you, she was the only other person who has liked me for who I am."

"Well, if I may draw a parallel - there is one thing I was struck by in comparison of Ariana to Launchpad, and that is your feeling that, whatever went wrong between yourself and Ariana, it all hinged on your own actions."

"Oh - I mean, it was what I said that made her leave, and..."

"But you didn't mean for her to leave, did you?"

"No, but-"

"So do you think it's fair for Ariana to have left, without giving you a chance to explain?"

Beth frowned slightly. "You don't understand - I mean, she was _really_ upset, and..." She found that she couldn't explain it exactly, because she hadn't given Dr. Mortimer the full details of what had happened, and because out loud it didn't sound convincing. Beth didn't know exactly what had happened, and she didn't know what she had done wrong, but she did know that under the right set of circumstances she would have very willingly just disappeared from her own life without a trace. In fact, she very nearly had. Misunderstanding or not, Beth couldn't blame Ariana for running away; and no misunderstanding could stop Beth from blaming herself for hurting Ariana. Hoping that Dr. Mortimer would let this drop, she gently tried to redirect the subject. "Um... I still don't see how that relates to Launchpad..."

After a moment's pause, Dr. Mortimer said, "Beth, when you came in today, you told me that you agreed with me that you have trust issues. What made you come to that conclusion?"

Beth fidgeted, feeling even more guilty and self-conscious than she had before. "I... um... Remember when we first started talking, I mentioned how the last time I came in here I'd had a bad day? Well, see, I had gotten in this big fight with Launchpad that morning." She winced. "Only the worst part... is that it wasn't even a fight. It was just... me, yelling at him."

"What happened?"

"Ahhhh..." She sighed and put her hand gently to her forehead - this still felt so awful, even to think about; it wasn't how Beth thought of herself. "I, I was hung over that morning, and upset, and - and when I talked to him he laughed about something, and I thought he was laughing at _me_, and I just... I started yelling at him about how he was an awful friend and I might have said I hated him, and... Then I hung up on him," she finished in a small voice. She peeked up to see what Dr. Mortimer's reaction was, but he was just watching her quietly. "Um, anyway, later on I didn't even know why that had happened, but I figured he'd never speak to me again, and that was the thing that would ruin _that_ friendship, but then he called me that night after our session and everything was just fine.

"And when I got off the phone I realized what you'd meant when you said that I didn't trust people. I mean, I... I didn't trust him to want to talk to me again. That's what you meant, right? That I should believe more in people? I thought I did, I mean, I try to believe the best about everyone, but I thought the worst of Launchpad, and for no reason at all. Is that what you meant?"

Dr. Mortimer was nodding slowly, but he said, "Yes and no. There's more to trust than just the actions of other people, Beth, and I can see it as a pattern throughout everything you've told me. Everyone you've known, every friend who is no longer in your life, you consider to be a loss of your own making. You've said several times now that you don't know what happened, but you did something, and they couldn't like you anymore. You can't ascribe guilt in the relationship to anyone else, so you keep taking it onto yourself, and in the end it's yourself that you've lost trust in. And if you can't trust yourself, you can't trust anyone else."

Beth felt guilty, like she was being blamed for something. She checked the time; they had gone about seven minutes over the hour, and Candy was probably going to throw a fit. They agreed to continue the discussion at her next appointment, and Beth stood and thanked Dr. Mortimer before heading slowly for the door.

She must have looked as miserable as she felt, because Dr. Mortimer smiled. "Beth, this isn't a life sentence. Your problems are likely a product of a faulty self-image and a self-fulfilling prophecy - your belief that you're going to drive people away may eventually lead you to push them away. But recognizing that behaviour is the second step to changing it."

"What's the first step to changing it?" Beth asked, feeling as if she was walking into something that should have been obvious.

Sure enough, the answer was deceptively easy. "Wanting to."

* * *

When they arrived home, Candy shut the car off and sat for a moment. The silence was expectant. After a few moments of it, Beth shrugged at her and got out of the car to go inside.

Dinner was unsettling, because Candy kept watching her. As Beth was doing the dishes, she turned and found her older sister sitting at the kitchen table not reading the magazine that was sitting open in front of her; instead she was looking plaintively at Beth.

With a sigh, Beth burst out, "What?" She expected something more about what she had talked about during her therapy, but instead Candy spoke musingly.

"You've still got your hair in that braid Mom gave you this morning."

"Oh." She fingered it, a little self-consciously. "Um, yeah."

Candy cocked her head. "It doesn't really suit you."

Beth felt her face growing hot, and she turned back to the sink to keep Candy from seeing how much this bothered her. What, was it really *such* a problem for Candy to see anyone spending time with their mother except her? Forcing a laugh but unable to keep the anger from her voice, she said, "Well, I didn't know that braids were only for certain people."

The chair gave off a scuffing noise as it was pushed backwards, out from the table, and then Candy was standing next to her. She pulled softly at the end of the braid. "It's just that she did the same hairstyle for you that she usually does for me, without taking the shape of your face into account, is all."

"Whatever that means."

Candy sighed a little, then said patiently, "This is a french braid, this kind of thing is good for those of us who have rounder faces, but you've got a leaner face. This is too severe and it makes your face look skinnier."

"Thanks."

"No, I mean, it looks nice," Candy backpedaled, although to her credit, she made it sound like she was just explaining in slightly more detail. "But you'd look even better if you had a looser braid, something that let your hair frame your face a little. It would soften your cheeks and bring out your eyes." Candy looked at her face for a moment, and cocked her head the other way, as though she was examining her sister's facial structure. "Can I do your hair?"

Taken by surprise, Beth blinked. "Oh - I don't know..."

"Oh, come on! What's the harm? What, do you think I'm going to take pictures and put them up on telephone poles or something?" She grinned, and after a moment Beth allowed herself to smile sheepishly as well. "Besides, I'm good at this stuff. Trust me."

Beth was still reluctant, but she had to admit that Candy's arguments were good ones... It _was_ a little silly to be afraid of having her hair braided. "Well..."

"You know what we should do?" Candy asked, suddenly sounding excited. "Let's have a slumber party!"

"A _what?_"

"Oh, you know, like when you were in school and you spent the night at your friend's house for her birthday party?" There was a pause as Candy waited for some sign of recognition, but Beth remained completely blank. After a second, Candy cleared her throat and moved on awkwardly. "Okay, well, you know - we'll stay up all night and do hair and makeup, and eat ice cream, and talk about boys!"

"Boys?" asked Beth doubtfully.

"Okay, _men_. Or, I don't know, _books_ or something. Whatever makes you feel like a teenager again!" Seeing Beth's forehead wrinkling in uncertainty, Candy threw in, "Please? It'll be fun!"

With the strong feeling that this was against her better judgment, and wondering how a simple comment about her hairstyle had led to this, Beth said, "Well... I _guess_ so..."

* * *

And so it was that an hour or so later, once the dishes were done and the family had gone to bed, Beth and Candy were in their pajamas with hair products, various bottles of nail polish, and a couple of pints of ice cream softening on the end table next to Candy's bed.

Candy had taken out her contacts and was wearing her glasses, which changed her face and made it look both strange and, oddly, more welcoming. She sat herself behind Beth on the bed and busied herself in taking the strands of hair out of the french braid, then brushing the hair out. "We've never really done this before, huh?" she said as she brushed the underside of Beth's hair in long, smooth strokes.

They had definitely not; the only time Beth had spent the night in Candy's room had been the one year or so when she had temporarily had no room of her own while home for vacations, and the atmosphere had generally been chilly at best. "Guess not," Beth said awkwardly.

"I was always too busy being Miss Grown-Up," Candy volunteered, chattering on aimlessly. She began parting Beth's hair into three sections, using the brush deftly; it felt unexpectedly soothing, and Beth started to relax. "And you were just... totally unreachable."

"I was?" Beth was surprised; she hadn't been unreachable, just ignored.

"Yeah, you just came home every day and locked yourself in a room with a book, and I was just like 'oh, I have a sister? I forgot.'"

"Hm." This was so far off the mark from what Beth actually remembered that she couldn't think of a reply. In fact, she was usually pretty tight-lipped with Candy... Her older sister seemed to do all the talking in their relationship, which was more or less unique in Beth's life.

Candy finished twisting Beth's hair, then tied it with an elastic and scooted around to face her sister. She looked her over, and smiled approvingly. "There! Aw, you look cute!" When Beth rolled her eyes, Candy said, "Seriously, dummy! Here." She picked up a hand mirror and forced it in Beth's face before Beth could object. Beth had to admit that the hairstyle did look nice, and was a bit more flattering than the tighter braid her mother had given her.

"Um... thanks," Beth said, laying the mirror down carefully. "So... now what?"

"I dunno. Want some ice cream?"

They passed the two pints - one chocolate brownie and one vanilla fudge - back and forth between them, as the condensation from the thawing containers dripped down the sides and onto the bedspread. Candy said it didn't matter.

Midway through the pint of chocolate brownie, Candy said casually, "So what _do_ you talk about at your appointments?"

Beth took her spoon out of her mouth and put the ice cream container down, tensing up as she moved. "Oh, for crying out loud, has this whole thing been about-"

"No! I mean -" Candy shot forward, picking up the ice cream before it soaked through the bedsheet and moving it to her table, then continued, "Kind of, but listen, it's not like I'm nosy. This is... well, okay, it's not _just_ that I'm nosy." She gave Beth a brilliant smile, and Beth sighed.

"Then why DO you keep asking?"

"I don't know, I just thought maybe you'd like a second opinion. You know, I mean... You've been here for nearly two months now, and that's a long time. No one knows if you're feeling better or what your plans are or even what happened since you won't tell us. I just thought, like, maybe you'd want to talk to someone in our family who isn't Mom."

Raising an eyebrow, Beth asked, "But this will get conveyed to Mom?"

"Not if you don't want it to," said Candy, quickly but solemnly. She held up her left hand and with her right hand crossed her heart. "Doesn't leave this room unless you say it's okay."

Beth frowned, but found herself giving in regardless. "Hmmm. Well, mostly it's just, like... I talk about stuff that happened when I was younger, and things, and he listens. And then he asks a lot of questions, about what I think of things, and sometimes he gives his own opinions."

"On what?"

"On - on what's wrong with me, I guess."

"That sounds fun," said Candy; her sarcasm didn't go unnoticed.

Beth laughed quickly, and covered her mouth. "Well, yeah... but he does make me think. And, I don't know, I kind of think he's right."

"Like what? What's he said? I mean, Beth, you still haven't actually _told_ me anything here."

"Um, okay." Beth thought for something that wasn't quite personal enough to embarrass her, and offered, "He does say that I have a problem trusting people."

Candy's reply was immediate. "Well, duh. Any of us could've told him that." Beth's eyebrows rose in surprise; Candy might not have even noticed this reaction as she went on, since her expression and her tone of voice didn't change. "And well, case in point. You never tell anyone anything at all. I think for the past, what, ten years now - you're just one big secret."

Even though she had been trying to accept Dr. Mortimer's assessment of her, this still took Beth by surprise. "But - but that's just because..." She trailed off; she had always thought that the reason she didn't talk much about herself was because no one would _want_ to hear about her, and she didn't want to burden them with the trivia of her life. The habit had become so ingrained that it just came naturally now... But it didn't explain her avoidance of details with her mother, or her fierce efforts at privacy when it came to her sister. And it was pretty much cancelled out by her tendency to pick a topic at random and exhaust it whenever she had some silence to fill.

"I didn't really... think about that." Beth's admission was both quiet and awkward, and Candy smiled with a certain knowing sympathy.

"So fix it," she suggested.

Beth pulled her legs up slowly towards her chest and hugged her knees. Quietly, she said, "Um... things got very... strange, back at home."

Candy nodded slowly. "Uh-huh..." she said, in a "give me more, now" tone. "Beth? Just relax and tell me about the guy." With that, she settled herself against the headboard of her bed and looked expectant.

Beth's eyes widened a little, and she quickly looked down at the bedsheet, her cheeks flaming. "W-what guy?"

"You know what guy." Her voice was not mean-spirited, but it was still distinctly amused. "The one who messed you up so badly. The one who sent you crying back here."

Beth ground her teeth together, infuriated that it had taken Candy all of two seconds to go back on her promise not to tease; then she realized that Candy was actually still sitting there listening, and waiting patiently, and maybe she didn't _mean_ it to sound teasing. She played the words over in her head and tried to hear them in a different tone, and realized that Candy didn't aways mean to be insensitive. She just _was_, that was all.

Regardless, though, since Beth had no intention of having a discussion about Drake, she said, "There's no guy."

"Was he the one you were talking to while you were hiding in the closet?"

"NO!" Beth snapped, her shoulders going tense.

Candy was not intimidated. She cocked her head. "Okay, be that way. Let me see, that was not the guy. Hmmm... let's see if I can use my amazing sense of intuition to figure this one out..." She put a finger to the side of her head and tapped her glasses almost comically, then straightened up with a look of amazement on her face. "BESSIE! There are _two_ guys!" Beth recoiled. "You fell for one and the other fell for YOU! Am I right?"

"Um - w-well, be-before I... Um..."

"And the one you liked broke your heart." She said it with certainty, and not without sympathy, though she was still grinning from ear to ear and that sort of hurt the sincerity of her words.

Beth held her silence for a few moments longer, then sighed and let her shoulders slump. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Oh, female instinct, or a hunch or... what's that quote... when you've eliminated the other possibilities, whatever remains, no matter how unlikely, must be the truth."

"Gee. Thanks."

Candy grinned. "That's not what I meant. I just thought you'd be impressed that I was quoting that author you like. Arthur Conan O'Doyle."

Beth rolled her eyes, but didn't answer.

"So now you have to tell me the story. Come on, you'll feel better if you get it out."

At a loss, Beth hesitated - she felt backed into a corner, but she couldn't deny that maybe Candy was right. A part of her really wanted to get it all out, to get a normal person's opinion. She opened her mouth slowly. "Well..."

It took about twenty-five minutes to tell the whole thing, leaving out certain details of course; Candy polished off the rest of the fudge brownie ice cream during the telling. The story had some giant gaps in it by the end, but she'd covered the basics.

When she'd finished speaking, silence hung between them heavily. Beth wondered if Candy was waiting for her to say something else, so she added, "And... that's it."

"Wow," said Candy slowly. "Oh sweetie, you poor kid, that's rough! It's hard enough to break someone's heart when you're not nursing your own heartache..."

"Yeah... I guess you've been more on the breaker side than the breakee, but this part is new to me."

"Oh, I've had my share of achy-breaky endings," Candy said with a sigh. She offered the remaining container of ice cream, and when Beth declined, she stuck the lid back on and put it on the end table. "But neither one is fun."

"How do you DO it? I mean - I feel like I never, ever want to even _think_ about falling in love again. And I thought having someone fall in love with me was supposed to feel good, but..."

"It does. When things go the way they're supposed to. But hey, Bessie, listen... it starts to feel easier. Time passes, and as long as you don't let yourself get stuck in the moment, life goes on." She cocked her head. "The heartbreaker part is easier when you don't particularly like the guy you're turning down, which I'm guessing isn't the case here."

Beth shook her head. "That's the thing, that's the awful part... he's the best person I've ever met. He doesn't deserve to feel the way I've been feeling."

"So if you like him, why don't you... _like_ him?"

It was a question Beth had been dreading, so much so that she hadn't even let herself ask it. "I - I don't know," she said quietly. "I just... don't. There's... nothing there."

"Okay. Fair enough." Candy nodded, then posed a new question. "But you get along well with him? Is he, like, ugly?"

"Oh no. No, he's really - um... he's way out of my league actually."

Candy rolled her eyes, and said, "You know, we _are_ related."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that we do share a family resemblance." When Beth was still perplexed, Candy looked her in the eyes and said, "It _means_ that you're _not ugly_, dummy. You're stupidly pretty when you don't try to hide it underneath your hair and your baggy shirts and your giant glasses. BUT I'm not trying to start an argument," she said quickly when Beth began to protest in annoyance. She put her hands up and said, "My point was, you like him, you think he's attractive, what if you went back and gave it a shot?"

"Gave it...? Like, um, like dating?" Beth was taken completely by surprise by the question; she hadn't even considered it, the whole situation had seemed far too black and white. "Dating _Launchpad?_"

"That's the idea."

"But..." She didn't know the first thing about dating, and hadn't even really thought much about dating Drake. Going out to dinner, seeing movies, getting flowers - she could do that... But there was more to it than that. Her mind balked. "I- no. I couldn't."

"You could _try_. That's my point. They say some of the best relationships start as friendships. You already know you get along, right?"

"Well... yes, but..."

"But what? I mean, isn't this the whole crux of the issue? You like him, he's cute, he likes you, this is how people get started. So what's the 'but'?"

"Well, it's... um..." And Beth's mind went blank. She honestly couldn't think of her reason why it didn't feel like a good idea... it just _didn't_. Say Candy was right: say the lack of sparks was something that could just fix itself, in time. Say she gave it a try.

And say it didn't work out.

Beth's eyes filled with tears, completely out of the blue, and she put her hand to her mouth and ducked her face.

"Oh geez," Candy said, surprise in her voice. She scooted across the bed, and put her arm halfway around Beth's shoulders. "What is it? You okay?"

Sniffling, Beth recovered herself, and nodded. Her sister looked pained. "Was it something I said?"

She shook her head, then sighed and said, "I don't even know. I just... I don't know how to put it into words... but I can't. I can't even _try_, with Launchpad. I can't -" She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and said in a lower voice, "I can't risk it."

"Risk what? It not lasting?" Beth nodded. "Bessie... You can't only do things you know are gonna work out for you. If you don't take any risks, you never really do anything."

"I know, I know," Beth said. She took off her glasses and wiped at her eyes and the tears that had pooled at the corners. "It's not... It's just... With _Launchpad_, see, I..." She shook her head; she couldn't say it, Candy didn't know how important Launchpad was.

"You worried about hurting him?" Candy asked gently, showing more understanding than Beth had expected.

It still wasn't quite right, though - not entirely - so Beth only nodded with a shrug. "Kind of," she said, "but more, like... what if... What happens when - _if_, I mean - we start going out and he realizes I'm not who he thought I was?"

She was horribly aware that she'd said "when", and she knew Candy had noticed, too. They both ignored it. "Well," said Candy, "who knows what would happen if that happened. I mean, it seems to _me_ that he'd have to be a shallow creep who didn't deserve you at all for that to happen, maybe that's just my opinion." She squeezed Beth's shoulders a little, then let go and leaned back against the headboard again. "But don't you want to find out what happens if and when it does work out?"

Beth didn't. It wasn't even that she was scared of having her heart broken again, not really... It was that she was just scared of losing Launchpad entirely. Of trying for more than she should, and losing everything. But also, inside, when she tried to think of being in love with someone - anyone, Launchpad or otherwise - she just felt tired and empty. Like her heart had just shut down.

Candy wasn't going to give up, so Beth said, "Maybe," just to shut her up. She'd probably have to fend off a lot of future pestering, but she could handle that later. For now, she just needed an end to the conversation.

"It's too bad we never had a real traditional sister experience, huh?" Candy asked thoughtfully, picking up her bottles of nail polish and studying them one at a time, then replacing them on the bookshelf next to the bed.

"I guess so," said Beth awkwardly. "Traditional" had never even been an option while they were growing up. Candy had the information she'd been after, so she was expecting to be chased out at any minute.

Instead, Candy held up a bottle of blue polish. "How d'you feel about 'Electric Dusk'?" she asked.

"Well, I feel like whoever came up with that name doesn't really understand how the whole 'daytime/nighttime' thing works, for one," Beth said.

Candy laughed. "Ehh, not really you anyway. Okay, let's go with something more classic. Plum, no, too dramatic... 'Pearl'? You'd look good with this, it's sort of opalescent." She twisted the top loose and grabbed Beth's hand, settling in to dab delicately at Beth's fingernails with the polish brush. "We had some good times, though. You remember when we were young and we'd go to the pool like, every day all summer long? And we wouldn't swim, we'd just sit there together and hang out?"

Beth, with her hand caught between Candy's, realized that her sister had a completely different view of how their childhood had gone than she did. And with that realization came another: that maybe Candy _liked_ her. That maybe Beth was just as guilty of misunderstanding her sister as she had always believed Candy to be of misunderstanding her, and maybe the problems between them had their genesis on both sides, instead of just one.

She found herself with wet eyes again, just as unexpectedly as before, but she managed to mask it by pretending to rub her eyes sleepily as she wiped the unshed tears away.

"Hey, um, Candy?" she asked. Candy, who was squinting at Beth's fingers to make sure she'd applied both coats of polish evenly, responded with an affirming noise instead of a word. "Do... Do you think we got along okay when we were young?"

"Oh come on," Candy said, looking up with a wry expression. "We were sisters. We're not expected to get along. I mean, you know, we always hate each other until we're out of our teenage years, right? But y'know, there are always good times too."

"What about Kit?" asked Beth. "She practically idolizes you."

"Mmm. Kit's so much younger, it's totally different." Candy smiled fondly. "It's hard to grow up with someone and compete with them all the time. I used to think you were gonna take Mom and Dad away from me if I didn't try really hard. I mean, when you were at school it was just us, so I didn't worry, but whenever you came home to visit you were all they wanted to talk to... or about. It was years before I realized that was only fair, you know? God, I was such a brat. I just wanted them all to myself. I used to try to think of ways to get you to leave, like, the country or something." She grabbed Beth's other hand and said, "Blow on that one for a while. It's not quick-dry so don't let it touch the bedspread."

"Okay." Beth blew on her fingertips a few times, then looked at them dubiously.

"If you get tired of blowing, you can shake them or something," Candy told her without looking up from the other hand.

"Oh." She tried it, but felt weird flapping her wrist over and over, so she went back to blowing. After a while she started again. "Hey, um, you remember that one guy I had a crush on?"

"Which? Weren't there, like, a ton during one year? And one was a teacher?"

Beth blushed; she hadn't realized Candy had known about that one. "Just _two_ in one year. It's not that much."

"Well, for you it was, I guess."

That was semi-offensive, but Beth let it go. "Anyway, there was one friend of yours-"

"Oh my god, Cube! That's right!"

Blushing even more, Beth blew on her fingers again in an effort to seem casual. "Yeah, um, do you know whatever happened to him...?"

"Married, two kids, went to work selling used cars back at the last reunion." Candy grinned. "Man. Cube. I haven't thought of him in forever." She looked up. "Now, HE was a shallow creep who didn't deserve you."

"Really? Um... when - when did you decide that?"

"Oh, I always knew it. He asked me out like three times and I kept saying no, so then he started hanging around you and I was like, 'I can see where THIS is going,' but you wouldn't listen when I tried to tell you. Remember?"

Once again, this wasn't Beth's recollection in the slightest. "Um, no? You never told me any of this!"

"I so totally did! Blow on these now," Candy instructed, and put the brush back in the bottle. "I told you that you weren't his type, and tried to be tactful and things, and then when you wouldn't listen I figured I had to just _show_ you, so-"

"So you kissed him! At the library!" Beth didn't mean it as an accusation, not exactly, but Candy looked a little ashamed of herself when confronted with it regardless of intent. "And you made sure I'd see you. You have to admit, Candy, that's not exactly proof that he didn't like me, that's just proof that you got him to like you again."

"First of all, biggest thing, I did _not_ kiss him. He kissed _me_. I let him, because I knew you'd probably see." She looked as sincere as possible while still looking slightly embarrassed. "He kissed like a fish. Ugh."

Beth stared at her, and finally broke into giggles. Candy joined her immediately.

There was no way, really, to know if what Candy said was true or if it was just what she'd convinced herself over the years. But... after a while, it didn't matter anymore. After a while it had to be time to let these things go.

* * *

Beth dreamed about Launchpad that night, which she later reflected was not a surprise. In the dream, she went to his house and told him that she liked him very much, but she didn't love him, and would never love him. He was upset, and he had to ask her to leave, and she walked slowly back to her own house with her heart feeling swollen with sadness and tears.

When she let herself in, she sat down on the couch with a sigh and turned to Launchpad, who asked her how it had gone. She told him it had been terrible, and these weeks had been so hard, and he put an arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him and felt miserable but, at least, not alone. At least someone understood her.

She woke up from the dream with a light on her face, and it took her a while to realize that it was moonlight, streaming in from Candy's window. She sat up carefully and found that Candy was curled up on the left side of the bed, her face turned away from the window, towards the door; she still had her glasses on (as did Beth) which was funny because Beth didn't remember them deciding to go to sleep, but all the lights in the room were turned off.

The beam of moonlight was so strong that Beth found it distracting, so she slipped off of the bed and padded towards the window with the intent of adjusting the blinds and getting rid of the moonbeam. When she reached the window, though, she caught a glimpse of the landscape outside.

The lawn and the trees and the street below were all silver. The moon was full and brilliant, and everything outside looked as bright as day, but in a kind of glowing black and white. Instead of pulling the blinds down, Beth found herself pushing them aside and opening the window enough that she could lean out into the night air. It was nearly October; the air had a bite to it, and Beth closed her eyes and stood as a wind passed over her and through her.

She remembered her dream; two Launchpads, one of them a part of her troubles, and one there to help her deal with them. She felt so torn, and her heart ached in her chest; and after a moment she realized she ached because she missed them, all of them - Gosalyn, and Drake, and especially Launchpad. She had so much she wanted to tell him.

She shivered as another wind cut through her. So many weeks had passed, slid by while she hadn't noticed. She'd just been stuck in the same place, in the same moment, dwelling on the same things without moving forward. She'd lost... how long now? Two months? She wasn't even sure anymore. And in all of that time she hadn't moved forward at all, she'd just relived her past without acknowledging her present, the things she'd run away from. What did those things amount to?

She looked down at the silver landscape, listening to the silent night, and she knew, suddenly and certainly, that they were just moments. Just a part of a life that was made up of moments, with many in the past, and many yet to come. This would pass, if she let it.

Out loud, in a voice just over a whisper, she said to herself, "I want to go home."

* * *

_A/N: This is not a song-fic, obviously, but there is some heavy influence from U2's "Stuck In A Moment That You Can't Get Out Of" in here. It is a great song and has been an inspiration for the ending of this scene for, oh, probably a good four years or more by now. (I know it's older than that, but the genesis of this story is not!) Okay, very near the end now, honest guys! Please R&R!_


	20. Act VI Epilogue, part 1

**Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth**

* * *

_All I will say is that I have been waiting to write the second half of this chapter for **months**._

* * *

**Act IV, part I (Epilogue Pt I)**

Beth sat down at her next appointment and, determined to waste no time, got straight to her point. "I think I'm ready to go home."

Dr. Mortimer looked surprised and pleased. "Well, that's terrific! So you're feeling better?"

She gave a muted smile, looking mainly at the carpet on the office floor, but nodded genuinely. "Yeah. I mean, mostly. Not, um, well, yes. But I really... I really miss my friends. And, I don't know, I feel like I'm going to finally be okay."

"That's great." He really did look happy for her. Beth felt even stronger in her decision.

"Yeah." She nodded, then paused. "So - so when do you think I'll be ready to stop coming to see you?"

He raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Whenever you want. There's no cut-off date, you know."

"Oh - well, um, I mean..." Embarrassed, Beth fidgeted uncomfortably. She hadn't exactly expected this. She wanted to go home as soon as possible, but at the same time, with "as soon as possible" apparently being right away, she felt suddenly adrift. "I - I guess... This'll be our last appointment, then... Unless you think-"

Dr. Mortimer said comfortingly, "It's up to you. If you feel ready to stop therapy, then you certainly can at any time."

She felt even more adrift than before, because the more he said, the less certain she felt that she was ready for anything at all. She reminded herself that all weekend long she had thought it over, and her final decision had remained the same: she wanted to go back to St. Canard. But she had been counting on at least a few more sessions, and some kind of official ending to the whole treatment - maybe not something like an embossed "Cured" certificate, but _something_. "Um... I - I don't know, actually... I guess I could stop..."

"You know you don't have to do that, either, Beth." Dr. Mortimer chuckled a little, and said, "If you want to stay a little longer, you're welcome. And you know, you can do both: I can give you a reference to someone in St. Canard. I have a few former fellows and coworkers in that area."

"Oh," she said, and felt relieved, but at the same time, lonesome. She _liked_ Dr. Mortimer, and whoever she ended up seeing in St. Canard might be great, but they would not be Dr. Mortimer. "Okay, that... that sounds good."

Dr. Mortimer took a few minutes to scribble a note to himself about putting together a list of referrals for Beth at the end of their session, and then asked if she had anything she wanted to talk about. She did, and said so.

"I'm just not sure what I should say to Launchpad," she said.

"This is the friend with the unwelcome romantic attachment to you," he said in confirmation; the way he put it made Beth feel heartless, and she frowned slightly.

"Um, yes. That friend. I haven't - well, what I mean is, I just don't know what to _say_ to him... I'm not really even sure exactly what I want to _do_."

"Well, you've indicated that you don't want to end the friendship, if I recall..."

"Oh, no. Definitely not," she said, shaking her head to reinforce that. "I, um, spoke to someone else about it last night, and she suggested that I could try going out with him and seeing what happens."

"You could do that," said Dr. Mortimer, nodding in agreement. Beth, who had been hoping he would say that was a bad idea, didn't realize she was actually showing her reaction on her face until he said, "So that's a no, then?"

Embarrassed, she answered, "Well - I... I just don't think it's a good idea. But if everyone else seems to think so..."

Dr. Mortimer put his notepad down, and leaned towards her. "Beth. There is one thing above all others that I want to convey to you before you leave this office, never to return, and that is this: You do what _you_ think is right. Not what everyone else seems to want, or expect, or vaguely support. If you feel otherwise, you follow your instincts."

She cracked a smile, and looked at her hands. "Um. Okay."

"So, what do you want to do?"

She sighed. "I... I don't want to go out with him. I don't want to go out with _anyone_, but Launchpad especially, he... he's my _friend_. He doesn't _feel_ like a romance. I mean... I wish he did. I really do, I think... he'd be a wonderful boyfriend, or husband, or anything, but..." She looked at her hands again, then looked frankly up at Dr. Mortimer, who met her gaze with respect and warmth. She finished, "Just not for me."

He nodded, and looked satisfied.

* * *

When the phone rang, Launchpad ignored it, because it almost definitely wasn't for him. What this really meant was that it almost definitely wasn't Beth, which was the only phone call he really expected to get; and even though he had spent the first week after his last conversation with her jumping up every time the phone rang, it eventually dawned on him that this habit wasn't doing anyone any good. Telling Beth to call when she felt like it and then waiting for her to call every day was kind of sending two different messages, and if he was going to give her space, he had to start at home. Even if she couldn't see him, he should practice being cool about things.

He was congratulating himself on being cool about things when Gosalyn picked up the phone, but a moment later when she called, "Launchpad, phone! It's Beth!" he got up so fast that the chair half-tipped over. And it was an armchair.

"Uh, thanks," he said to Gos, slowing down as he approached the phone; and before picking it up he took two deep breaths and checked his teeth to make sure nothing was stuck in them.

He wasn't sure how casual he should be, but it didn't seem right to totally pretend that he didn't know it was her, or anything. To buy some time he decided to clear his throat, but he ended up doing it right into the phone, then had to scramble to make sure she was still there. "Uh, I mean, hello?"

"Hello?" said the voice on the other end.

He tried again. "Hi?"

"Um, Launchpad?"

"Yeah," he said, taking a stronger hold on the phone receiver. "Beth?"

After a pause, she said, "Yeah. Hi... um, how are you?"

He felt like laughing. She sounded just like herself. _Cool,_ he reminded himself, _be cool about things._ "Oh, I dunno. Fine, I guess. You?"

"Good. I mean, better." A slight pause, and he spent it trying to guess from her voice what she was calling about, or even just how she was feeling. He hoped that the fact that she was calling him meant she really was feeling better, and she wasn't just saying it. "Um, so, wow! I'm sorry I took so long to call... It's been a while now, I guess!"

He saw the opportunity to sound casual, so he said, "Has it? I didn't really notice..."

"Yeah, it's been like... nine days, I think."

"Eleven," he corrected her, then winced and slapped his hand over his eyes.

She didn't seem to notice. "Wow, that's so long! I'm sorry!"

"Nah, it's no problemo! Really, I didn't even notice." _Didn't count the days or anything,_ he thought, and rolled his eyes. He noticed he was winding the phone cord around and around his fingers, and made himself stop. "So... What's up? Just checkin' in?"

"I, um, well..." She paused for a second, evidently nerving herself, and then said, "Actually, I called because... I kind of owe you a talk. I mean, don't I?"

Oh. Was this going to be good or bad? He really hoped it would be good. "Oh, well, sure! If you wanna..."

"Mmm." He had time to wonder what that noise meant, and then she said, "Well, first, I have to tell you that I- I started seeing someone after I came here."

Launchpad felt the entire world sort of fall down around him. He wasn't sure he was breathing, but he heard himself say, "...Oh?"

Undaunted, Beth said, "Yeah... I guess maybe I should have said something before now, but I just felt... I don't know, kind of weird about it."

"Huh." He was amazed by the fact that he was able to make noise, when he didn't feel like he could actually get any air into his lungs. "For... how long?"

"Um, I don't know... I guess it started when I'd been here about two weeks or so? Before I called you the first time, anyway." Beth sounded so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it almost didn't seem real.

"So, uh..." If she was happy, that was what was important, he tried to convince himself... He tried to shake himself out of his stupor, but it was like drowning in quicksand, a slow and muted suffocation. "Uh, is he... a good guy?" he asked, even though he had a totally unfounded feeling that whoever the guy was, he was completely undeserving.

"You know, he is," Beth said, her voice sounding thoughtful, as though she was really reflecting on the question. "I had my doubts at first, but things have really started working out. It was my mother's idea, and at first I thought she was crazy, but now I'm kind of glad."

"Your mom's idea?"

"Mm-hmm. They go way back - actually I remember him from when I was a kid, which was kind of why I thought it was an awful idea now that I'm a grown-up, but it kind of helped, because he knew me way back then..."

Launchpad had no response to this, not even on autopilot.

Beth went on, "Anyway though, I guess it's kind of run its course. We talked this afternoon and we both agreed it was okay for me to stop seeing him-" This statement gave Launchpad grave concerns about the level of control this guy had over Beth, even as his spirits raised slightly - "and then he gave me a list of some other people I could consider trying out. There's one he really recommends, and she's in St. Canard-"

"She?"

Sounding surprised, Beth said, "Oh, well yeah - it's not that unusual, I mean, there are plenty of really good female therapists. I think there was someone, maybe it was Freud, who said that women couldn't do psychoanalysis because of their innate feelings of..."

He stopped listening, because she'd said something important. "Therapist". _Therapist_? She was seeing a _therapist_? Like, a lie-on-the-couch, tell-me-what-you-dreamed-last-night kind of therapist? All the air came rushing back into the room, and he almost laughed.

She was finishing up, "...But really, I think all that is unfounded, because it's really a matter of the patient's personal approach and how the therapist relates, or at least that's what _I_ found, so I'm more concerned by the fact that they might have a different relation to me than Dr. Mortimer, so-"

"Uh, okay," said Launchpad, with no idea what she'd been saying. "Yeah, that makes sense. So, uh, therapy, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, sounding sheepish. "Is that really pathetic?"

"No! No way! I didn't know you felt that bad, though."

"Mmm." Another non-committal noise. "I don't know. I guess I did. But I feel better, a lot. I just kind of worked myself up over a lot of things... Things happening now and also stuff that happened a long time ago. Things I didn't know were still bothering me so much."

"Like what?"

She hesitated. "I, um, it's long. And... I'll tell you another time, if you really want to know."

"I do," he said, and she didn't answer. He wondered if he'd said something wrong, so he changed the subject. "Well, so what'd you work out? I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't wanna..."

"No, no, I do! I've wanted to talk to you for so _long_ now about all this. Um, basically, we talked about Drake a little bit- mainly towards the end - and sort of went over my feelings, and our relationship, and - oh, you know, all the boring details. And... well, it was hard, but it was really a relief too, because it made me see that I was in love with him for all these really stupid reasons, and that I didn't really want a relationship with him. And deep down I knew that, even, but I didn't want to accept it. So now I'm just trying to accept it, finally."

"Well, great! An' if you need any help..." He trailed off as he realized that didn't make much sense.

Beth, sounding perplexed, seemed to have reached the same conclusion. "Um, okay... I, um, probably won't, but thanks! Anyway, well, we also talked about... um... you, and me and you, and, um, things like that."

So this was getting to the point that she wanted to talk about, obviously. With slight misgivings, but also a burning curiosity, he said, "Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Like... the things that we were sort of almost talking about before I left, but I said I didn't want to talk about yet, and that I said we'd talk about later...?"

Which was a roundabout way of saying that she'd talked about Launchpad's feelings for her, he figured. His curiosity overpowered his nervousness. "What'd you guys decide?"

"Okay." She breathed out in a long, slow sigh, and said again, "Okay... Well, at my last session, we agreed that when I spoke to you, one of the first things I should do would be to state unequivocably where things stand. So that there's, um, no misunderstanding there." She cleared her throat, then fell silent.

Launchpad was so thrown off by the silence following what had seemed like a lead-in to something that he didn't respond for some time. Finally, he prompted her, "Yeah...?"

"Yes. Well..." Another breath; this one had a little shaky sound at the end. Quietly, she said, "Boy, this is hard."

Launchpad's stomach sank as he realized that he didn't want to hear what was coming - at least, not out loud. He could guess it well enough. "Y'know," he said, hoping to avoid something that would undoubtedly be unpleasant for both of them, "ya really don't have to..."

"No no. I do. I mean - Dr. Mortimer said so, and he was right, and... I think I owe you, um, well... I owe it to you to be straightforward. I want you to know that everything I'm going to tell you is the honest truth, and if I say it, I mean it. Okay?"

"Well..." That sounded even worse. He wondered if he could either talk her out of it, or at least distract her enough to keep the conversation from continuing right now.

Before he could, she said, "I... I'm not... I don't... Boy." She blew out another quick breath, and said quickly, "I don't love you. Like that."

It actually hurt more than he thought it would, which was a surprise, because it was exactly what he'd expected. But there was the surface sting, then another kind of clenching feeling that was kind of embarrassment, and then just the fact that she'd said it, right up front that way...

The silence hung for a moment longer, and then she said quietly, "I'm sorry." She sounded so unhappy that he found himself rushing to comfort her.

"Oh, no, it's... I already knew that, honest. Really," he said when she didn't answer. After another moment, he said carefully, "...Are you cryin'?"

"No," she said in a very wobbly voice, and then sniffed.

"Aw, Beth, don't. It's really okay." It did occur to him that this was entirely backwards, but there didn't seem to be much he could do about that.

In a small voice she asked, "_Really_ really? You don't mind at all?"

"Well, I mean... I _mind_. I just don't think you need to - aw, _don't,_" he pleaded, when she started sobbing. In a weak attempt at a joke, he said, "Hey, I'm the one who oughta be upset, right?"

She started crying harder, and he wished he could go back in time and slap a hand over his mouth before saying anything. Between sobs, she said something about not wanting to hurt him.

"Okay... well, thanks, that means a lot," he said, as sincerely as he could. "But, uh, look... Sometimes, things hurt people, whether other people want 'em to or not. An' it's not your fault things turned out this way. An'... life goes on," he added, because it seemed like something else was needed at the end.

She sniffled. "You think so? You'll... you'll move on and... find someone else?"

He thought about what she'd said, that everything she would tell him would be something she meant, and so he couldn't say yes. Instead, he said, "It'll be okay." Because he knew it would, one way or another.

She calmed down; he could hear it in her voice. "Okay," she said shakily. Then, a little more stably, "Sorry... That - I just got overwhelmed."

"No problemo," he said, and she gave a quiet little laugh. Since he didn't think anything was funny, he figured it was one of her self-conscious ones.

"Well... look, I - I have more I wanted to say... But, um, it all sounds kind of weak now, I guess. Um... The main thing is - I do love you, really. And, I wish I felt differently. Somebody said maybe I should just try it out, and see what happened, and I... I can't do that," she said.

He couldn't help asking, "Why not?"

"Because... I can't - look, Launchpad, you have to understand, I - I've never had a friend like you, not ever. If something happened to split us up-"

"Maybe nothing would happen."

"But it _might_. And I... I couldn't take that."

Launchpad had to let that sink in for a moment.

Beth, after a pause, said, "Look, I thought about it, and really... I don't want to ever have a point in my life without you in it. If - if you can't still be friends with me now, I-I'll understand, but I wanted you to know... Just because I don't want a relationship doesn't mean I don't want to be with you. I... I'm not sure I want a relationship with _anyone_ at this point, really. I just want things to stay like this - I mean, like they were before - for as long as they can."

He considered this, and found it confusing. Beth didn't want to be in a relationship with anyone right now; she didn't want to go out with him, but she still wanted him around; she didn't love him romantically, but she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life.

Launchpad considered all this, and decided it was about on the same level as a platonic marriage proposal, and he would take it. "Okay," he said carefully.

"Okay? Really?"

"Yeah. I can live with that."

"Oh, thank goodness. Because I was lying when I said I'd understand if you couldn't be my friend. Or at least - I'd understand, but not in a good way."

He grinned, feeling an odd mixture of heartbroken and giddy. "Nah, you're stuck with me."

"Well, you're stuck with me, too, so I guess we're both... stuck," she said. Her voice was full of relief and nervous happiness; he knew that she'd meant everything she'd said, just as she'd promised earlier.

"Couldn't be happier," he said, and he meant that, too.

"Well! Um, so... Was there anything you wanted to say to me?" she asked.

He was going to say no, and then he reconsidered, since he had wanted to clear the air a little bit himself. "Well, just one thing... Uh, really, when I toldja about... all this... I really was just tellin' you 'cause I hoped you'd feel better. I wasn't tryin' to move in on ya."

"Okay," she said, and sounded level-headed enough. "So... you wouldn't have even told me if I hadn't been so upset over Drake?"

Well, might as well be honest about that, too, he figured. "Nah, I was gettin' ready to tell ya anyway," he said. "Y'know, it'd been goin' on for a while, I just wanted to get it out in the open..."

She paused for the briefest of moments before she asked, "...For a while?"

"Well, yeah."

"What's a 'while', here?"

She was sounding a little less level-headed, so he hedged a little bit. "Oh, few months," he answered vaguely.

"Mmm," she said - the return of the non-committal noise - and then said, slowly and carefully, "Would you mind if I asked one question?"

"Uh, sure. Shoot."

"Well, um, is this like a... _little_ thing, or a bigger thing?"

"'Little thing'?"

"Oh, little like... like just a passing fancy, like 'I think it might be fun to go out on a date with Beth sometime, maybe I'll ask her', or..."

"Ohhhh, gotcha... No, bigger thing, then."

"Ah." A pause followed. Then she said, "Bigger like 'I just noticed Beth is kind of pretty', or like-"

"Uh, how about we just say 'bigger' an' leave it at that?" he cut in uncomfortably; it was clear where this was starting to go.

"Okay..." she said uncertainly. "Um... well... Anyway, I probably ought to get going, but I'll probably see you soon. I haven't set a specific day yet since it'll depend on when my parents can drive me, but then again I guess I could just catch a taxi-"

He had no idea what she was talking about; this didn't ring any bells from earlier in their conversation. "Huh? Date for what? Are you - d'you mean you're comin' home?"

"Yeah! I said that at the start of the conversation, didn't I?"

"No!"

"Yes I did! I'm sure I must have..."

He laughed. "Nope, I'd remember. Trust me. When?"

"Okay, I might've forgotten to say anything earlier, but I _know_ I just said I didn't know yet what day I'd be coming," she said, and sounded more amused than chiding.

"Right," he said sheepishly, but he was too happy to feel embarrassed. "When's the soonest?"

"I don't know, maybe the day after tomorrow, but I'd have to get a cab for that for certain since my dad's-"

He saw his chance, and jumped for it. "I can pick you up!"

"-Oh!" Beth sounded surprised, and didn't seem to know what to say. "Well - no, you don't have to-"

"Please," he said, very seriously. "I haven't seen you in a long time."

"It's like two hours from St. Canard-"

"No problemo."

"Well..." He sensed she was wavering. Uncertainly, she said, "I have a ton of stuff to bring home, too..."

"We got a big car." In a low, quiet voice, he said again, "Please, Beth." When she didn't answer, he held his breath.

In a half-whisper, she said, "Okay..."

He smiled, aching to hold her in his arms; she felt so close, now that she was nearly coming home. "Great."

"I, um... I'll call tomorrow and let you know for sure what day, and how to get here, and stuff." She thanked him a few times, and excused herself for the evening again.

They were through with the goodbyes and she was on the verge of hanging up, when he found himself saying, "Beth?"

"Hmm?"

"Nothin', ever, could make me leave you."

She was quiet. Then she said, "...Oh."

And that was it.

After another pause, he cleared his throat. "Okay, well, call me tomorrow."

"Y-yeah. I definitely will. G'night."

"Night."

After she'd hung up, he stood up, and felt better than he had in weeks. She was coming home, and they'd have a two-hour car ride together, and he was going to be able to see her and touch her again, and she loved him... Kind of, anyway. The heartbroken feeling he'd had before had dissolved, replaced with a new resolve; more than ever, he was sure they were meant to be together, and the main challenge now was getting Beth to see that too. And he would; if it took weeks, or months, or even years, he had the time.

* * *

_To be concluded! (No foolin'!)_


	21. Act VI Epilogue, part 2

****

Darkwing Duck: All About Elizabeth

* * *

**Act VI, part II (Epilogue Pt II)**

When Beth slid into bed that night, she lay staring up at the ceiling in the dark room, as she'd done so many nights during her childhood. She wished now that she'd put up some of those phony glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling; at least she'd have had something to stare at now, instead of the cloudy gloom that had always surrounded her in this room.

Going home; she was finally going home. And she finally felt relief at the thought, rather than dread.

She had to admit, though, that this time at her family home had not been what she'd thought it would. Difficult, yes; a trial to her patience, but... no one had been precisely what she'd remembered. Her mother...

Well, that was never going to be perfect, she supposed. Her feelings towards her mother were still pretty conflicted; the waving of the magic wand hadn't suddenly given her infinite patience and understanding in that relationship. But regardless, Beth was glad she'd had the chance to speak with her mother as openly as she had. Somehow, it seemed like she'd never really thought of her mother as _human_... the kind of human who makes mistakes, who regrets past choices, like everyone else. Beth, so intimately familiar with regret, had never suspected her mother felt the same about her own past.

But home - home would always be St. Canard, even though she knew now she could come here more often, and would actually _want_ to come. Well, sometimes anyway.

Home. She missed it so much. She missed _them_.

She rolled over onto her side, pulling her knees up closer to her chest, and thought about her conversation with Launchpad. It had been such a relief to get those things out into the open... even though she still worried about things being different between them. Well, they would definitely be different; there was no getting around that. The conversation had mostly gone well, and he'd really seemed okay with what she had said; in any case, he'd sure taken it better than she had from Drake. But she couldn't shake this feeling that there were a couple of times when maybe they'd each taken different meanings from what had been said - hadn't there been a few moments when he had sounded... Well, she wasn't *sure* how he'd sounded, but it had made her feel sort of nervous and giddy in the pit of her stomach. It was very emotional.

All she could do was hope that he wasn't going to be too hung up on her when she got back home. And really - she rolled her eyes at herself and flipped over onto her back again, feeling slightly exasperated with her own line of thinking - really, it wasn't as if he was _in love_ with her, after all. No one had ever said _that_. If he had been, he wouldn't have given up so easily, and he'd _told_ her that he would move on. He'd said so.

Wait, had he actually said that? She tried to remember what, precisely, they'd said, but she'd been crying at the time (she rolled her eyes again, feeling utterly ashamed of herself; she was such a baby sometimes), and that part of the conversation had gone so quickly and been so emotional that she couldn't remember half of what had been said.

Well, it didn't matter. She was determined to get things back to how they used to be, and that was what was important.

It was funny, really. She'd gone over her feelings several times, both before calling him and after, and she still knew deep in her heart that she felt nothing but platonic love for Launchpad. And yet, for all the guilt she felt over being the object of his unrequited affections, and for all that she wished this had never happened, she was surprised to realize that she _did_ feel flattered by his feelings for her.

Well, he'd said he wanted her to feel good about it, so... might as well go ahead. She'd just never admit it to anyone, that was all. Definitely not Launchpad - no good encouraging anything there.

She smiled, secretly, into the dark. Someone thought she was beautiful. For once in her whole life, someone had noticed her. Someone thought she was special. And, he was a pretty cool guy.

There was something pretty great about that.

She rolled over once more onto her side, pillowing her head with her hands, and realized belatedly that she hadn't thought at all of Drake since well before the phone call. That was surprising; she couldn't remember the last time she hadn't thought of Drake, at least in passing, on an almost hourly basis.

Maybe she really was getting over him. That thought brought an ache, but it was a mild one, which surprised her again. Just a few weeks ago the thought of getting over Drake had seemed like losing a part of herself. Now it just seemed to be getting easier.

All the more reason, actually, to never go through this again. It had taken way too long to reach this point; the best thing to do, for certain, was to just make sure she never fell in love again and stayed single for the rest of her life. She wouldn't be lonely; she had friends now, and as long as she had friends and companionship, she didn't need romance.

_Goodbye, Drake,_ she thought; and she let him go. Feeling silly for being so melodramatic, she snorted contemptuously at herself in the darkness, and went to sleep.

* * *

**May, 1992**

To say that Beth disliked her job would not have been completely accurate. It was true that it wasn't what she'd thought she would be doing, five years ago when she'd pictured her future. It was supposed to have been temporary until the "real" job search held fruit. But that fruit didn't seem forthcoming, and when her "temporary" job had offered something more permanent, Beth had taken it with a feeling of excitement and even accomplishment. It was her first promotion; it was her first full-time job.

And the job was not all that bad, aside from the fact that it was a waste of her education. It was steady, low-stress (in general, anyway), and it gave her time to think; it paid well enough that she had been able to afford to buy her own house, although the house in question was tiny and smelled strange.

Bindler's Hardware store had offered her no official title other than "sales clerk" and Beth had not requested one. But she had only one supervisor, a woman named Henny Chickstein who held the position of store manager, and Beth was the only other full-time employee amid a tiny sea of weekend part-timers. She was, in effect, second-in-command. In keeping with that, Henny gave her a great deal of responsibility in both the front and back of the store; she got to keep the place clean and restocked, as well as keeping the register balanced and the paperwork organized.

And, of course, there was the selling, which admittedly was her weak spot. Beth firmly believed that hardware sold itself and it wasn't necessary for her to actively be a "salesman", although Henny felt differently and occasionally threatened to find a full-timer whose commitment to strong sales leads was firmer. After three years, Beth knew this to be an empty threat, but each time it came up she increased her dialogues with customers by a little bit for a week or so until Henny seemed to forget.

Beth had only one New Year's resolution each year, and that was to get out there and redo her resume and get her foot in a field related to her degree. But the world outside of Bindler's Hardware was cold and harsh, and Beth often felt exhausted before she finished reading the Want-Ads. Everyone wanted experience, and she had none. Each year by May she had convinced herself that she should stay right where she was. She had a full-time job, and what's more, it was a job with a future: she was likely to get her own store to manage someday. Why strive for more than that?

It was 3 pm on a Thursday, which meant that Henny's shift was nearly over and the midweek rush crowd would be making its way through in about two and a half hours. The store, in its midweek pre-rush state, had been straightened and restocked and, aside from Beth in the front and Henny doing paperwork in the back, was completely empty.

Pushing a broom absently in front of the register, Beth contemplated. It was May; she had some vacation time coming up but, as usual, nowhere to go. She'd lost most of her vacation time the past two years, except the small amount she used at Christmastime to see her family; this year, she was determined to actually GO somewhere. The question was, where?

Various destination names were flitting through her head when the bell over the door rang. Beth glanced in its direction to see a tall red-haired duck in an aviator's uniform step inside and look around to orient himself. He had a brown bomber jacket on, plus a tan scarf and an actual flight cap; the jodhpurs really completed the outfit. She blinked; you certainly wouldn't miss this guy in a crowd. In addition to the outfit, his looks guaranteed that he wouldn't just blend in. "Tall" and "red-haired" were just vague descriptive adjectives that didn't in any way acknowledge the fact that he was also exceedingly handsome.

Afraid she'd be caught staring, she huffed quietly to herself and focused on the floor as she swept. Attractive people made Beth nervous, and subtly uncomfortable. After all, she'd never had much luck with attractive people - well, with people in general for that matter, but the good-looking ones seemed most likely to be the ones to bring out the worst in her, and then laugh about it together. Past embarrassments had given her a particular aversion to redheads.

She glanced up to see him looking in her direction, so she quickly turned her attention to sweeping behind the cash counter, working it out towards the pile she already had in front. When she snuck a look again, he was navigating the store, slowly, peering down aisles and checking a list in his hand.

What could he want? she wondered. From the way he was dressed, he was either a pilot or else he was on his way to a costume party. Beth really was determined not to stare, but as she couldn't stop stealing looks at him, it resulted in a rather funny-looking head bob between the floor and the customer.

She lost track of him when he stepped into the far part of the store, and she was taken by surprise a moment later when he stuck his head out and said, "'Scuse me?"

She jumped. "Huh?"

"Sorry, but do you work here?"

"Oh!" _Way to space out, Beth!_ she told herself... He was a customer, after all. She took a quick step forward, tossing the broom against the side of the cashier's counter. "I'm so sorry! I do, I -" The broom started to slip, and she lunged back for it, then turned back to the customer frantically. "Sorry, one sec-" Her attention diverted, she missed the broom, and it smacked her in the shoulder before sliding to the ground. "Eek! No!" she said, and mentally kicked herself immediately for saying it out loud.

"Lemme help you." The handsome customer somehow made it to her side without her noticing, and stooped to pick the broom up. Beth couldn't stop her momentum, and she bumped into him as she knelt beside him.

"Sorry!" she yelped. He didn't answer, just grinned and picked up the broom. She knew, for certain, that she was going to start babbling. "I'm sorry - you really don't have to, I - I have it..." That was an exceedingly stupid thing to say when he was now physically holding the broom himself, and she was not. She shut her eyes and took a breath, standing up as she did so. When she breathed out, she opened her eyes again and said, "Thank you."

He stood as well, and put the broom against the desk where she'd intended it to rest. "No problemo."

"How can I help you?"

"Well," said the handsome maybe-pilot, "I got a list here, an' mostly I need a couple of wrenches and some boxes of set screws, but I'm not seein' the screws."

"Yeah, they're small. I-I mean, the section is small," she said, and hurriedly took him to the far corner away from the door. "They're all over here."

"I checked here... I didn't see the kind I was lookin' for."

Great. She'd have to walk him through it. This was so far from being her forte that she felt a rush of nerves just at the realization. "What kind did you need?"

"The pointy kind," he said carefully, and she nodded.

"Cone point?"

He looked surprised, then impressed, that she knew. She was a little surprised, herself. "Yeah. I looked up an' down the wall, but -"

She checked as well, then grimaced. Drat, drat, drat - he would have to be after some of the ones they didn't carry. The idea of recommending him to a better hardware store simply didn't occur to her; maybe he was open to improvisation. "I'm, um, afraid we don't carry that kind. What did you need them for?"

"Oh, just some repair work."

"What specifically? The thing is there's more than one kind you can use and you might be able to use the knurled cup point screws instead."

The pilot gave her a look which might just have, momentarily, included something like awe. She fidgeted, uncomfortable in his gaze, and looked at the wall. "You can try them and if they don't work out just bring them back, okay?"

"Sure." He took a few boxes and looked at her again. "You really know your hardware. You do a lot of repair stuff?"

She led him towards the wrench aisle, and gave a choked laugh. "Me? No, no. I couldn't fix a salad." In addition to being a good line, this was actually a pretty close assessment of her cooking abilities. "I just got lucky on this... I read about these kinds of screws a week or so ago." _Shut up,_ she told herself, _he doesn't want to know this._

"You read about hardware?" He actually sounded interested. "I guess you have to, workin' here." He browsed his way through the wrenches with the ease of someone who used them often, and found the kind he was looking for.

Beth wondered if she should let the statement go. He hadn't actually asked it as a question, exactly - although it had been his own answer to his question, and he hadn't been exactly right. She gave a mental shrug. "Well, we don't HAVE to. Sometimes the manuals are lying around, though, and I don't have anything else to do, so I figure I'll just read up on the contents of the store. If you'd asked me about external combustion engines we'd have been out of luck."

He laughed. He actually _laughed_. Beth was too surprised at first to do anything, but after a moment she joined him, a little self-consciously. "I'll getcha some books on 'em, then. And after you read 'em, I can quiz you."

"Heh," she said, weakly. She wondered if he was making fun of her. Conversations didn't normally go on this long unless she was being made fun of. "Well, anything else I can help you...?" She let the question trail off.

He looked around, then shook his head. "Nah, think this'll do for today." She walked him to the register, then, and he kept looking around the store. "Is it always this quiet in here?"

"Oh, well, not always. This store supports a local do-it-yourself show, and it airs three times a week - one new episode on Friday nights, and then they rerun it Sunday afternoon and Thursday evenings. So every time they air it we get a rush of people coming in for the things they play up." He probably could have figured that out on his own, she thought. Beth was at a constant uncertainty as to how much information was _too_ much.

"Yeah? Is the show any good?"

"I don't know," she said absently, filling out a receipt before she started punching in the prices on the out-of-date register. "I never see it, I'm always working when it airs."

"Huh, really?"

"Well -" She paused, and shrugged. "Wednesdays are my day off, then I work every Thursday night, Friday night and Saturday morning, pull an all-day on Sunday, and I get either Monday or Tuesday off. So yeah. I'm pretty much always here when it's on."

"Sounds like you're pretty much always here, period."

"Heh, well, I'm full-time so... I guess I am." She laughed again, nervously, amazed by how easily the customer seemed to take chatting. It just seemed to come naturally to him. She rang him up, half-hoping he'd stop talking to her simply because the longer he kept talking, the more likely she was to say that one particular thing that would make him decide she was a loser. She didn't know what it would be- she never knew - but there was always something, with everyone.

In a sense, Henny saved her. Bursting from the back room, her bracelets jangling together as she stretched her arms above her head, Henny announced, "That's it, I'm OUTTA here, and man is my butt killin' me after sittin' there doin' that paperwork!" Noticing the customer, she stopped, momentarily silenced.

"Hi," he said, his voice friendly but awkward.

Beth found herself on the receiving end of a glare from Henny that distinctly said, "How could you let me say that in front of a customer!" Pointing out to her that she had begun saying it before she was even fully out of the back room would be useless, so Beth smiled halfheartedly and shrugged.

"Hellooo," Henny said, recovering herself and evidently trying to make the most of the situation. She held her hand out to him, positioning it in the semi-seductive manner that wasn't quite right for a handshake but more suited for a kiss on the back of the hand. The pilot, looking confused, took her hand and shook it heartily. "I'm Henny, the manager here... Did you find everything okay? Did she help you out at all?" She nodded at Beth, not bothering to actually look at her. Beth took the cue, stepping backwards and fetching a bag for the goods that were being purchased and letting Henny take over the conversation.

"She was great," said the pilot, "she really knew what she was talkin' about."

"Oh," said Henny flatly. It clearly wasn't the answer she'd been looking for. "Well, that's really good. I'm happy to hear it."

"In fact," he went on, and Beth suddenly had a feeling she was going to regret this, "she gave me a real good suggestion when we couldn't find what I was lookin' for."

Henny turned her attention onto Beth. "What exactly are you telling people?" she asked.

Beth cringed reflexively. "Um -"

"Why are you telling people to buy things other than what they need?" she asked. "You're supposed to be helping customers, not conning them into wasting their money on worthless things!"

"Hey, no," said the pilot. "It was good advice!"

Henny swung back to him, looking sympathetic. "I'm really sorry. Let me give you your money back."

"I'm sorry," said Beth, flustered.

The pilot frowned. "No, I think she's right. I'll keep the screws she sold me."

Taken aback, Henny gave a very unladylike snort. "Well, I tried," she said, tossing her hands in the air. She tore the receipt off of the register feed, and handed it to him with more hands-on contact than was really necessary. "You're going to want to hang onto this," she said confidentially, and winked. "We're open late on Saturday - 'til 9 - so I'll be here all evening... So if you need to return anything, just pop right in."

"Sure," he said, and stepped back as Henny slid past him and sashayed out the door.

Beth, wishing she were anywhere else right now, handed the pilot his bag with shaking hands. "Um - sh-she's really right," she said, her voice trembling. "You should take your money back."

The pilot grinned, and patted her on the shoulder. "How 'bout this. I'll come back in soon, and letcha know how the screws work out."

_Oh, please don't,_ she nearly said, but she caught herself in time. "I guess so." Maybe he'd forget. He probably would. People tended to forget promises like that, right?

"Great!" He started for the door. "See ya soon, then!"

"Uh-huh," she said weakly. He wouldn't come back. She'd have to be stupid to think he would, stupid and naive. She refused to get her hopes up, not that there was anything to get her hopes up over, since customers came and went all the time in this store and -

Oh, stop it. Really, now, just STOP.

She put her hand up, and waved slightly as he left. "See you."

* * *

**Now**

The drive was a long one, made longer by the fact that he really, really wanted to get there fast. Launchpad didn't have a problem with driving fast, but he in a car there was no way he would get there in less than an hour and a half or so, and taking the ThunderQuack really wasn't an option in a residential neighbourhood. Besides, DW probably wouldn't like the idea.

Beth had promised that the house was pretty easy to find, and her directions supported that; once he left the main highway he only had to make about three turns until he got onto her street. A couple of blocks down, and he saw her, standing at the curb outside a house, waiting for him. She was wearing a jacket that was much too big for her, and she looked a little bit lost in it. His heart leapt; no one had ever looked so good.

As he got closer he noticed the pile of objects around her, and recognized it as luggage. It dawned on him that she wasn't just waiting to greet him; she was ready to go. He parked the car and stepped out, and for a moment neither of them moved; Launchpad felt like he didn't _want_ to move, he just wanted this moment that was so full of potential to go on and on.

She broke the silence first, stepping towards him, still smiling almost sheepishly. "Hey," she said. Her voice had that slightly embarrassed tone that crept into it when she felt like she was on the spot. "Um - was the - the drive okay?"

"Oh... yeah, real smooth," he answered. If he moved, the first thing he'd do would be to hug her, and if he did _that_ then he probably wasn't going to stop any time soon - which might not be the best thing to have happen in this situation - so he stayed rooted to the spot. "Wow, nice jacket."

She looked down at herself, embarrassed. "It's my brother's. I only brought summer clothes with me and it's been kind of chilly this week so I had to borrow something."

Grinning, he said, "How big's your brother? I think we could fit two of ya in there."

"Har de har," she said, making a face at him.

Actually, now that he looked at her, she looked even thinner than usual. He decided that was as good an excuse as any to take her out to dinner at the earliest possible opportunity.

Beth looked back over her shoulder at her house, her manner suggesting that she was worried someone would emerge at any moment. He wondered if she was waiting for someone, but then she said, "Well... It's really good to see you." She didn't sound embarrassed anymore; her voice was quiet and a little thick.

"You too," he said, sincere and relieved. He took a step forward, paused, and then came the rest of the way onto the curb with her. There was an awkward, fumbling moment when she stepped forward to meet him, then backed up as he got closer, and then they each just stopped and laughed self-consciously. Uncertain, he held out his hand, and she stared at it with an almost comically confused expression before taking it and just holding it. "I missed you," he tried, hoping it was the right thing to say. Nervously he added, "Everybody did."

Beth smiled, and ducked her head down. "I missed everyone too," she said, her voice even thicker. She rubbed at the side of her eye, still holding his hand, not looking at him.

After a moment of silence, he said, "Well! So, should I get your bags?"

"Oh. Um, yeah. I'll - I'll help," she said, and let go of his hand to heft up the bag nearest her.

He grabbed the other two suitcases and made for the car door, then stopped. "Oh! Hang on," he said. He opened the back door and stuffed her bags in, then went in through the front door and grabbed the flowers off the front passenger seat. Hesitantly, he held them out to her. "I meant to give you these right away." She just stared at them, so he clarified, "Don't worry, they're just friendly flowers."

She blinked several times, and her eyes jumped from the flowers to his face, where she focused for a handful of seconds before her eyes seemed to just fill up with tears. But she smiled, which was good, and once she'd taken off her glasses to wipe her eyes she took the flowers from his hand and held them against her chest. "Thank you," she said, pushing the plastic wrapping aside to smell them. Having done that, she put the flowers and her bag on the ground, and slid her arms around his neck.

Launchpad could have grabbed her in that moment, and would have if he'd allowed himself to move. It took every ounce of willpower in him to stay motionless and count to five as she settled her head against his shoulder with a sigh. Beth always hugged spontaneously, and thoroughly; she held on tightly, like she was trying to absorb the other person into herself, and seemed completely unaware of the intimacy in her hugs - or of the effect they had on people, namely on Launchpad.

When he finally moved, it was less because he felt like he was more in control of himself and more because he was afraid he was going to miss his chance; after all, every hug had to end sometime, and the one-sided kind probably would end more quickly than one that was reciprocated. He put his arms around her, very tentatively at first, and she shifted slightly in response. He put a hand on her back, and he could feel her breathing; and after that he just held her, and breathed her in, until she shifted again and put her hands up to his shoulders, gently pushing him backwards until she could step out of his embrace.

Shooting an uncomfortable look back at her house, she said, "Um, we should go before my mom looks out here and wonders why I was hugging the taxi driver."

"Oh. Sure," he said. After that hug, for that to be the first thing that she said... He felt shot down, without even having tried anything. She picked her bag and flowers back up, swung the former into the back seat, and carried the latter with her around to the passenger side.

He picked up the remaining items that she had with her and put them into the trunk, then followed her lead and joined her in the car. She was settling the flowers on her lap, looking at them with a pleased expression, and he still could only feel stung. "Taxi driver," he said quietly and matter-of-factly as he started up the car. "Huh."

It came out before he'd thought about it, and he knew instantly that he shouldn't have said it; it wasn't fair to Beth, who hadn't meant the phrase personally, and it wasn't fair to him because now he just sounded grumpy.

Beth said quickly, "Oh, I don't mean that I think of you as a taxi driver! I mean - I'm so glad you came to get me, I really am! It's just, well, it seemed easier to tell my mom- see, if she knew you were coming, she'd want to meet you, and..."

She trailed off, and Launchpad shrugged a little. "I kinda figured I _would_ meet her."

Beth looked down at her flowers, and ran her fingers along the plastic sheath they were wrapped in. "...Oh," she said.

He shouldn't have said _that_, either. He wasn't sure if she was reacting with discomfort or just plain guilt, but either way, this wasn't getting him anywhere and he was starting to run the risk of just making her clam up for the whole car ride. "Uh, but it's no big deal. I mean, I can meet her another time, right? An' your whole family, some other time!"

She nodded, but didn't look up from her lap. "Sure," she said.

"Sure," he repeated, trying to sell her on believing that he felt fine. "Hey, it's not like they don't even know I exist!"

Beth winced. "Um..."

His spirits fell again, more so this time because he'd just managed to make things undeniably worse. "...Really?" he couldn't help asking.

"The thing is..." Beth looked up, out of the window for a moment as the scenery flew along beside them, then at him with an apologetic look in her eyes, "It's not because of _you_, it's just that if my mom heard I was friends with a guy, she'd get all these _ideas_, and then she'd start asking all these questions and she'd never _stop_, and she'd drop all these hints, and no matter what you or I said to her she'd just get it into her head that we should-"

She cut herself off abruptly, leaving no doubt to what she'd been about to say. Launchpad cleared his throat awkwardly, as Beth turned and looked out the side window again. "Well, uh, can't have her havin' ideas, I guess," he said cheerfully. Beth groaned a little, and there was a quiet thump as she let her head fall against the window glass. He kicked himself. _Why_ did he keep _saying_ these things? This was bad - worse than he'd been when he'd first started falling for her, and couldn't stop being all nervous around her. He decided to try a straightforward approach to settling the matter. "Look, Beth, don't worry 'bout it. I don't have to meet your family until you're ready - or at all," he amended, as she looked at him a little warily. "This is all comin' out wrong," he said, shaking his head and laughing a little despite himself.

To his relief, Beth laughed a little too. "I know the feeling," she said weakly. He grinned at her, and she smiled back a little, then pointed at the windshield. "Um... could you maybe...?"

"Oh, sure. Don't wanna get lost," he said, turning his focus back in front of them.

Beth chuckled weakly. "Right... Well, look, just don't think I'm ashamed of you or anything like that. I'm not at all, I just... can't handle the questions right now."

"I didn't think you were ashamed of me," he said; it was only just slightly not true, since he hadn't precisely _thought_ it, but he had worried about it. "Anyway, I gotcha."

"Really?" She relaxed a little. "Boy, my mother... My mother," she said again, sighing and shaking her head. "I talked a _lot_ about my mother with Dr. Mortimer," she added.

"Makes sense," Launchpad said agreeably. "Isn't that what all shrinks ask people about? What kind of stuff did you talk about?"

"Oh boy," said Beth, but just as he thought maybe he should withdraw the question, she started in. They were about twenty minutes outside of town before she finished, most of it a confused back-and-forth monologue that went between frustrated venting and a sort of regretfully-guilty recanting of what she'd just said. By the end, he understood that Beth's mother was Irish (which he'd already been told), was headstrong ("bossy" was the word Beth used more than once, but "headstrong" was the one she seemed to keep coming back to), and was able to pull his mild-tempered Beth into emotional, knock-down fights. The idea seemed unfathomable and intriguing, so he wouldn't have minded if she'd kept talking about it, but she seemed suddenly tired and so he let her ride in silence for a while.

"Want any music?" he asked after a minute or two of quiet between them.

"Oh, sure," she said distractedly; she'd been staring out the car window as if hypnotized by the trees as they whipped past.

Launchpad had spent the previous day putting together a tape of music for the car ride, a fact which he would admit aloud to no one. He turned the stereo on and it sprang to life as if cued - which of course it had been - and a poppy group sang "Take a Chance on Me", and he tried to look innocent, as if totally unaware of any potential message.

Beth leaned on her hand, her eyes half-lidded, for less than a minute before turning to him apologetically and saying, "Sorry, can we switch this? I'm just not in the mood for this kind of music."

Embarrassed, he snapped the car stereo back off. "Oh sure. Yeah, I'm not a big fan of these guys either, heh."

"Oh, not the group, just the... you know. Subject matter."

He furrowed his brow. "Disco?"

"Romance," she elaborated, a little uncomfortably.

He nodded slowly. It occurred to him that it was going to take a lot longer than a car ride for him to get through to her; it would take weeks, maybe even months, and he was going to need a lot of patience and perserverence. Giving up on the subliminal-message tape for the time being, he said, "Well, y'know, maybe we don't need music anyway."

"Mmm," she said, and tilted her head to the side as she looked out of the car windows. She had a thoughtful expression on her face. "We could keep talking. If you want to, I mean. I promise I won't just complain about my mom," she added with a self-conscious grin.

"You can complain about whatever ya want!" he said emphatically. She raised an eyebrow, and he laughed a little. "Well, uh, I mean... Talkin' sounds great."

"Yeah. I think so too," she said, and she smiled at him, her head still tilted.

He looked at her, and he melted. Anything that had been left in him that had misgivings or worry just melted away, and all that was left was putty in her hands. No matter what she knew or didn't know, or felt or didn't feel, she was Beth, and she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life. That was all he had to remember.

"So, then," he said, "tell me somethin' I don't know."

* * *

End

_A/N: I know - that's abrupt. But c'mon, we have chapters and chapters worth of information about Beth already so we really don't need more! Use your imaginations about what comes up._

SO. OH MY GOD I FINISHED IT. I don't think there's much more that I can say.

Um... Okay, a few fic-related announcements!  
1) The next story after this one is "The House on Avian Way", which I rewrote last year to conform to the new canon this story sets forth. It's been up here since 2005 or so, but if you've never read it, it's new to you! And if you didn't read the rewrite last year, it's still slightly new!  
2) Please check my profile for the link to my Webfoot-related blog, where I do chapter notes and things like that. Lists of references, just babbling about inspirations and my thoughts on scenes, plus random stuf like deleted scenes and characterization posts. All kinds of fun. I'm just starting to tackle the notes for this fic right now.  
3) Look for the rewrite of TWC2, "Sea of Green", to start surfacing soon, I've been working on it.

That's it! Thank you all for reading this; I cannot believe it's such a monster. Various readers have influenced this as it's gone on, including LuckyDuck29 in the early stages and Darkwingpsycho who got to see stuff early whenever I needed a beta read (plus she was kind enough to let me use her OC, Ariana!). If you've made it to the end, **please** comment, especially on this scene because I am continuously squidgy about my own romance writings and would love some feedback to tell me if this just sucked, or left you cold. Pleeeeasse! I've you've been reading and haven't commented yet, now would be a really great time to let me know what you think... since it's over and all. :D

One more time, thank you everyone!


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